


Red Skies

by TheWinterWren



Series: Rising Tide [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, F/M, Family, Parent-Child Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWinterWren/pseuds/TheWinterWren
Summary: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning." Inquisitor Meraad Adaar and her team prepare for the Winter Palace, and the Western Approach, with one unexpected addition.  Master Anaan Adaar learns the grim truth of his daughter's duties in the field, and the ghosts of the past don't always stay dead.





	1. A Call to Duty

**Author's Note:**

> This story ties heavily into events from "A Letter Home", and takes place roughly seven weeks after "Shelter From the Storm". Conversational Qunlat is bracketed by " * ", and as always, comments are welcome and always answered.

  
_Damn, this woman is **relentless.**   It's been over four hours, Vivienne. My brain is about to explode!_  
  
“Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons,” Meraad tiredly declared, as she harvested fresh witherstalk sap in the Skyhold garden's hothouse.  
  
Madame de Fer nodded from her temporary throne on a nearby bench, and set down the card painted with an image of the Grand Duke’s coat of arms.   
  
“Correct, and your pronunciation has vastly improved. _Très bien._ ” Now tell me, my dear, under what unusual circumstances did the Grand Duke secure the surrender of Nevarran forces at the siege of Larécolte in the fields of Ghislain?”  
  
Meraad paused in thought for a moment before replying, “The Grand Duke was placed in charge of the Orlesian response to the invasion by his cousin, Empress Celene Valmont I, due to his ties to Ghislain through his late wife, Lady Calienne de Ghislain, the daughter of Duke Bastien de Ghislain.”  
  
She offered a slight bow to Vivienne in recognition of the first enchanter's position as Duke Bastien’s mistress before continuing.   
  
“Gaspard drove the Nevarrans back to Larécolte, where the enemy had fortified the town, and dared the Orlesian Imperial Army to attack. Knowing it would be a long and bloody battle if they were to assault the town directly, Gaspard rode out alone and baited the Nevarran commander into single combat, with Larécolte going to the winner. In less than a minute, the Grand Duke had defeated the man, and accepted the Nevarran surrender.”  
  
“ _HA._ Giving up a fortified position in a siege for an honor duel?” Anaan laughed as he stepped into the garden with Bull, both freshly washed and carrying their practice armor. “Gotta love the Nevarrans. Great poets, artisans, and revelers, but lousy tacticians.”  
  
The Inquisitor could not have been more grateful for the unexpected reprieve. “May I remind you, Papa, that Seeker Cassandra is Nevarran?”  
  
“Yeah,” Bull interjected. “But Cassandra would agree with your dad. _She_ is a decent tactician, and an exception to the rule in many respects.”  
  
She kissed her father on the cheek in greeting, followed by a lingering kiss from her husband, until Madame's disapproving " _ahem"_ parted them.  
  
Meraad sighed, and turned back to her tutor with a polite smile.  _“ Je vous prie d'excuser cette interruption, Madame de Fer.“_  
  
“It’s quite alright. In light of your not inconsiderable progress, and of your present...distractions, I think we shall conclude training here for today.”  
  
She elegantly rose, gathered the stack of heraldry cards into a leather pouch and handed them to Meraad.   
  
“I am most pleased to see that you’ve finally begun to take your more delicate diplomatic responsibilities seriously, my dear. Continue your studies as we journey to the Winter Palace, and despite your humble origins you shall be remembered as the belle of the ball. Good evening to you all.”  
  
Bull huffed as the First Enchanter swept out of view. “Great. Another late night of reading, and listening to you recite heraldic blazons in your sleep. Not my preferred pillow talk, _Kadan.”_  
  
“Please, I do not talk in my sleep,” she said, tucking the cards into her bag.  
  
An awkward silence caused Meraad to look up, and find Bull and Anaan sharing a knowing smirk.  
  
“I don’t, do I?”  
  
“Just last night in fact, and the three before that.”  
  
“You did it when you were little too, _Imekari._  Even caught you singing a few times. Once I had a full conversation with you before I realized you weren’t awake, and you didn’t remember a damned thing the next day.”  
  
She flushed with embarrassment. “I...wow. Does this happen a lot?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know about _lately,”_ Anaan shrugged. “But it usually happened whenever you stepped up training. Hissera joked it was because your brain was full and you'd sprung a leak.”  
  
“Gods, right now it surely feels like it! I’m sorry, Love, but I promise it’s only for a little while longer. The Orlesians are so ridiculously easy to offend, and my being both a Marcher, and 'the oxman hedge witch' only makes it worse. With so much at stake, I have to be prepared for anything.”  
  
Anaan sat heavily on the vacated bench and stretched his knee as she resumed her work.  
  
“What about all that progress you and your team made in the Hinterlands? Doesn’t that count for something?”  
  
“Sure it does,” Bull said. “In Ferelden. But you know how these assholes think, Anaan. Some have already suggested we’ve shown unfair bias by helping Ferelden first, never mind the fact they’re our nearest accessible neighbors.”  
  
“Huh. So is that why that gaggle of pretentious masked jackanapes are lurking around the throne room lately? Forward scouts for the Orlesian court?”  
  
“Papa, those ‘pretentious masked jackanapes’ represent a great deal of support and resources the Inquisition desperately needs at the moment! I hope you’re playing nice with them.”  
  
Her father scowled. “Meraad, I accept you're under a lot of strain right now, but I don’t need you to teach me manners. I’ve been dealing and trading with Orlesians longer than you’ve been alive, my girl. In fact, were it not for the fact I got a better contract in Wycome at the time, your mother and I almost settled in Orlais just after you were born. I happen to know from my merchant contacts in the region that some of those sycophants don’t have as much leverage as you apparently think they do, so my question was valid.”  
  
“Okay, okay, then I'm sorry for assuming. I was just afraid I'd have to waste more time smoothing ruffled feathers than I already have been. Would you please compare notes with Leliana and Josephine about this too?”  
  
“Will do. So, you seriously intend to convince the Orlesians to set aside ages-old biases and kill them with kindness? Why bother? With all these rifts I keep hearing about terrorizing the countryside, don't you have better things to do than play dress up with the Court?”  
  
“Wh- _what?_   I'm not...this has _nothing_ to do with play…!”  
  
Bull cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, _Kadan,_ but I think you have visitors.”  
  
Meraad took a slow, calming breath and peeked around the door. Instantly her spirits lifted to see a cheerful young human woman with curly chestnut hair, carrying an infant in a cross-body sling.   
  
“Bea! What a lovely surprise! Give me a moment, sweetheart, I'll be right out.” She quickly stripped off her gardening gloves and dashed outside to give the woman a gentle hug. “I’m so happy to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”  
  
“A bit tired still,” the woman replied with a hint of an Orlesian accent. “But I've been following your instructions! I felt well enough today to come and meet my husband for lunch, but he's not off duty yet, so I thought we might visit you if you the have time.”  
  
Meraad glanced at her father and quietly said in Qunlat, “*We’ll continue this discussion later.*“  
  
Anaan simply nodded, then flashed their new arrival his most disarming smile as he rose from the bench.   
  
“There’s always time for a visit from a lovely young lady! Please, have my seat. Meraad, would you honor me with an introduction?”  
  
“Papa, I’d like you to meet Beatrice Harcourt. You may remember her husband, guardsman Guillaume? Bea, this dashing man is my father, Anaan Adaar, and of course you know Captain The Iron Bull.”  
  
“Yes, I do remember Guillaume,” Anaan replied. “One of your tower guards. Good man. Very well met, m’lady. And who is this little one you have with you?”  
  
The young mother beamed with pride. “This is my son, Lucas, and it's an honor to meet you as well, my lord.”  
  
“Oh, I’m no lord, sweetling, though the ‘dashing’ part is certainly true,” he winked. “What’s this about instructions?”  
  
Meraad and Bull sat on the grass beside the bench, and she eagerly accepted Beatrice's invitation to hold the baby.   
  
“It was aftercare following delivery, Papa. About six weeks ago this little guy decided to arrive early and in a fearsome hurry, and I was their midwife.” She gazed into Lucas’s pale blue eyes and cooed, “You caused no small amount of fuss, young man. Gave your mama and papa and me quite the scare!”  
  
Anaan sniffed, and Meraad looked up in surprise to see her father blinking back unshed tears. “Then it seems only right that you’d be the one to deliver him, _Imekari,_ considering you came into the world the same way. Although, this wee one wasn’t born at sea, and his midwife wasn’t a drunk pirate.”  
  
“Nah, just a little tipsy.” Bull chuckled. “We were in the tavern playing cards and drinking with my boys about a week after I got home, when Guillaume bolted in calling for help. Meraad was the closest mage Healer to the infirmary at the time, lucky for the kid.”  
  
Meraad suddenly grew serious. “Bea, have I your consent to do a follow-up check? It would only take a moment, but it does involve magic.”  
  
“Oh, yes please, if it's no imposition!”  
  
The Inquisitor gently cradled Lucas close and mentally invoked Healer's sight, allowing her to see beneath layers of skin and muscle for signs of illness or injury while her empathic awareness sensed for distress the baby was too little to convey. After a few quiet moments, she took Beatrice’s hand and performed the same scan, then blinked rapidly as her vision returned to normal.  
  
“Well, dear lady, I am pleased to report you’re recovering beautifully, though with the weather as warm as it’s been, I’d like you to drink more water to be sure you don’t get dehydrated while you’re nursing. As for _this_ sweet little fellow, he is growing strong and healthy.” She covered the baby’s downy hair with quick, soft kisses. “And _incredibly_ cute.”  
  
Beatrice sighed with relief. “ _Merci_ , my Lady. So much of this is new to me, it’s hard not to worry.”  
  
“It's my pleasure.” Lucas squirmed in Meraad's arms and nuzzled for her breast, his tiny hand pawing at the clasps of her tunic. She swallowed hard around a sudden lump in her throat and said, “I’m so sorry, little one, I can’t help you with that.” With a final kiss, she returned him to his waiting mother. “He’s hungry, mama.”  
  
Beatrice calmly opened her bodice and settled her son to latch, and Meraad couldn't help but smile at the simple beauty of the young mother peacefully nursing, surrounded by the garden's thriving life instead of war and ruin.  
  
Bull wrapped his arms protectively around her and whispered in Qunlat, “*Someday, _Kadan._ *“  
  
“*I hope so, my Love. Though I fear we have a long way to go.*“  
  
Oblivious to the Inquisitor's distress, Beatrice happily shared gossip from around the outlying farms, until a strong, male voice called from the shaded arcade.  
  
“Ah, good! I hoped to find you here, _Ma belle fleur!_ ”   
  
Guardsman Guillaume entered the garden, kissed his wife and son, then bowed respectfully as Meraad and Bull rose to greet him.  
  
“Greetings, Your Grace, Captain Bull, Master Adaar. You are all well, I hope?”  
  
“Very well, thank you,” Meraad replied. “More so since your good lady gifted me a bit of time with Lucas.”  
  
Beatrice fastened her bodice and rested her drowsy son on her shoulder, gently patting his back. “We’ve been catching up, _Mon amour._ Lady Meraad says I’m recovering well, and Lucas is strong and healthy.”  
  
“Maker be praised, that is the best news I’ve heard all day! Thank you again for your assistance, Inquisitor, but at the risk of rudeness, I have only a short time before I return to post...”  
  
Meraad laughed and waved them on. “Go, go, don't let me keep you!”  
  
She returned to the hothouse, donned her gloves and resumed work, pointedly avoiding eye contact with her father. But Anaan followed, and casually leaned against the open door's frame.  
  
“*You know, I’d be lying if I said it didn't warm my heart to see you with a baby in your arms. You’ll make a good mother yourself someday, once you set all this adventuring and politicking aside and finally settle down. Don’t think I didn’t notice you’re harvesting witherstalk.*”  
  
"*Aaaand here we go,*" she muttered. "*It's not safe for me to get pregnant right now, Papa, for many reasons. However, since I’m not going to deny myself or my husband one of the few joys we have by being celibate, yes, I'm taking witherstalk.*"  
  
Bull tucked a few escaped strands of Meraad’s platinum hair behind her ear. “*We both are. I’ve got as much stake in this as she does.*”  
  
_"*Safe?*"_ Anaan scoffed. "*The world isn't a safe place, Imekari. If your mother and I had waited until we believed it was 'safe', you would never have been born. Don't you think you're being...*"  
_  
_ With an indignant snarl she slammed down her garden shears, ripped off her gloves, and held up her marked hand before Anaan, the green anchor flaring in time with her rising pulse.  
  
“*Do you see  _this_?! Take a good, long look. As we speak, there is a monster out there who personally wants me DEAD because I bear this. He is the cause of those rifts you insultingly suggested I’m neglecting, and the only reason I agreed to go through with all this ‘playing dress-up with the Court’ bullshit in the first place is to gain the resources to FIGHT HIM!*”  
  
She capped the last bottle and shoved it in her bag, trembling with rage. “*Looks like we're both guilty of assumptions today, _Serah_. You have unfairly assumed I chose all this mess, even over my own _family_ , when the truth is I never  _chose_ to be the fucking Inquisitor _,_   _I HAVE TO BE._ *”  
  
Anaan’s violet eyes went wide with surprise, and Bull rested a comforting hand on her back.  
  
“*Easy, _Kadan._ Breathe. Your dad hasn’t been in the field with us to see what we’re up against.*”  
  
“*You know, that is a _very_ good point!*” She snapped. “*Bull's absolutely right, Papa. Apart from the run here with Turner, and that mess at the Freehold, you’ve remained at Skyhold. So I think it’s time you see what it is I _really_ do. Since you volunteered to help, we're leaving for Orlais in a few days, and you're coming with us.*"  
  
"*What, to the Winter Palace? I’m not much for court affairs.*”  
  
“*No, not to court. The invitation was very specific about the size of our accepted entourage, and they're already twitchy enough about me as it is. You'll wait with the other scouts while we get that shit sorted, then we'll move out from there.*"  
  
“*Move out to where?*”  
  
“*The Western Approach. I'd tell you more about why, but if we fail at Halamshiral it won’t matter, and I need to focus on one crisis at a time.*”  
  
Anaan stepped outside the hothouse door and lit his pipe before replying.  
  
"*Fair enough. Now, since I'm apparently misinformed, would you care to tell me what's  _really_  happening at this ball?*"  
  
"*What do you mean?*"  
  
*"I know you, Meraad, you don't get this worked up over nothing. This party means far more to you than simply hobnobbing for troops.*”  
  
She hesitated, then glanced at Bull, who answered her silent question with a nod of encouragement.  
  
“*Fine, but I tell you this in strict confidence. We have it on good intelligence that there’s going to be an attempt on the Empress’s life. I have to stop it.*”  
  
"*That's it? Assassination attempts aren't uncommon in Orlais, why not just send a warning and let her own people deal with it?*"  
  
“*We did,*” Bull said. “*Multiple times. The warnings were either ignored, or were intercepted by spies within the court.*”  
  
“*Figures. And with the Dales mired in the civil war, it's damn near impossible to move independent troops and supplies safely through the war zone to the Western Approach, so it makes sense to help settle that conflict first then pick up reinforcements from the winner. But that doesn't explain why you're taking this matter so personally.*"  
  
Meraad closed her eyes. "*I've...seen what happens if we fail.*”  
  
“*Seen? You had another vision?*”  
  
“*Not exactly, but for sake of discussion that's close enough. If the Empress dies, her cousin Gaspard will be blamed and arrested for treason. Orlais will be leaderless, its armies scattered. With Ferelden still recovering from the Blight, and the Inquisition currently lacking the troop strength to defend the border alone, Corypheus will tear open the Fade, overrun the South with an army of demons, and red lyrium will consume everything...*"   
  
_Bull, sick and corrupted in a cage in Redcliffe...  
  
__Bull, dead and broken on the floor while an army of demons swarm the throne room..._  
  
She shivered and swallowed against a wave of nausea as her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "*I  _have_ to save Celene.*"  
  
"*Does red lyrium have anything to do with those Red Templars I keep hearing about?*"  
  
"*Good guess,*" Bull confirmed, watching his wife with concern. "*Red lyrium's a more potent form of raw lyrium. Nasty shit. The Red Templars actually consume it since it can give them freakish strength and endurance, with the trade off being it drives them insane. They’re as bad as darkspawn in terms of overall threat, but better equipped and trained.*”  
  
Meraad scrubbed her workbench clean as if it might eradicate all the red lyrium in the world by association. “*If _that’s_ not bad enough, red lyrium also thins the Veil in its immediate area, making it easier for spirits and demons to muck with the physical world, which means more rifts for me to close.*"  
  
Anaan shook his head. "*Almost sorry I asked now. Okay, I'm sold. I’ll do whatever I can to help.*”  
  
She tucked her gloves onto a nearby shelf and lay her hand on his shoulder, compelling him to meet her stern gaze as she reverted back to Trade tongue.  
  
"Let me make one thing crystal clear,  _Serah_ _._  For all that I love and respect you, when the Inquisitor is on duty in the field, I will treat you as I do any other agent under my command. Even my husband abides by this. We want to get in and get out as quickly and efficiently as possible, and I need to know you’ll follow my orders. Can you do that, _Agent_ Adaar?”  
  
“Yes, Inquisitor. You won’t have to worry about me.”  
  
“Are you kidding? I’ll have the two men I hold dearest in this world with me, and I know the kind of threat we face. I’m worried for all of us.”  
  
Bull clasped his father-in-law's forearm in welcome. “Glad to finally have you along on a run, Anaan. You adapt quickly in a fight, and with your training and field experience, I think you’ll be a real asset."  
  
“I have duties to attend now, Papa, so do me a favor and talk with Varric and Cullen about red lyrium before we go, as they have even more experience with it than we do. If you have more questions after, we’ll do our best to fill you in on the way.”  
  
“Yes Ma'am. Might be simplest to invite them both to dinner tonight.”  
  
“Budget for drinks too,” Meraad said quietly as she picked up her bag. “A _lot_ of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orlesian translation:  
> "Je vous prie d'excuser cette interruption, Madame de Fer" = "I apologize for the interruption, Madame de Fer"


	2. Clarity

  
Madame de Fer lounged in a wingback chair near the Ambassador's office hearth, waiting for Josephine to give final daily instructions to an assistant. A servant delivered tea service as Josephine collapsed into the opposite chair, and Vivienne poured for them both.  
  
“You look positively haggard, darling. How you find delight in managing this insanity is beyond me. I do hope you’re finding time to rest.”  
  
The Ambassador sighed. “It has been...trying, of late, I must admit, particularly with preparations for the Winter Palace. Finding a tailor willing to dress the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull was a challenge unto itself. Thank you yet again for your excellent recommendation.”  
  
"You are most welcome, my dear! Initially I was concerned by the Herald’s shocking disdain for fashion, until I discovered it was simply due to her lack of exposure to it. There are tailors in the Marches capable of producing serviceable garments for the peasantry, but a tragic dearth of artisans with the vision or desire to create proper couture for someone of so large a frame. I'm pleased I could correct this oversight, and that Meraad, in turn, has developed a taste for finer fabrics. Small victories.”  
  
Josephine sipped the fragrant black tea with delight. “Is it true the couturier you found had been acquainted with the Lady Adaar in her home village?”  
  
“Ah, yes, Master Taran. A charming young man. Apparently there had been some unpleasantness between them many years ago, as children of such diverse heritage are wont to have. But his experience living in a Tal-Vashoth community served him well. He gained an apprenticeship in Orlais, and once adapted to civilization, established himself a tailor to the more robust and statuesque of clientele.”  
  
“There is no denying his skill, and we are most grateful for his assistance at such short notice. Although, considering his exorbitant fees, I am also grateful the Inquisitor agreed to keep dress uniforms simple and utilitarian.”  
  
Vivienne nodded sympathetically. “An unfortunate necessity, I'm afraid, though at least they will now be of decent make. Utilitarian needn't be ugly, and elegance may yet be found in simplicity.” She accepted a thin slice of lemon in her tea with a nod of thanks.  "By the way, he mentioned a rather curious thing regarding those ostentatious pendants Meraad and Bull presently wear. Am I to understand they're considered some sort of _bonding_ token?”  
  
“They are. According to Master Anaan, the dragon's tooth is a symbol of great devotion to the Tal-Vashoth. You are no doubt aware that Lady Meraad and Captain Bull have been lovers for many months?”  
  
“Of _course_ I am, darling. Skyhold holds romantic gossip like water in a broken sieve, and anyone who's had the misfortune of sharing a quiet camp with those two knows of their nocturnal proclivities. I am far more concerned by the ramifications this revelation may have at Court.”  
  
“Why? There is no noble house that would consider a Vashoth mage a viable candidate for political marriage.”  
  
“That may be true, but there are those who might question the wisdom of the Qunari Inquisitor, whom they have yet to trust, openly fraternizing with a mercenary in her employ. Particularly one with as...colorful a reputation as The Iron Bull’s." The First Enchanter dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen. "But I suppose it may also be dismissed as a simple affair of compatible convenience. After all, it isn’t as if their bond bears any legal merit.”  
  
“The ceremony is significant enough to their culture to be respected as binding among her counselors, Vivienne," Josephine coolly replied. "We may not share their customs, but they consider themselves wed.”  
  
“Their ‘culture’?” Vivienne scoffed. “It is my understanding the Tal-Vashoth have no unified culture, nor the Qunari any tradition of love matches. Perception is everything, my dear, and in the eyes of the Court, this ‘cultural tradition’ is nothing but a quaint peasant custom, officiated by her father, who is himself a common smith. There is no authority of any established faith or nation that will recognize them as legally bound, least of all the Chantry. This is a dangerous distraction, and a selfish folly the Inquisitor is in no position to indulge.”  
  
She produced a small piece of parchment from her reticule and set it on the table as she rose from the chair.   
  
“However, so long as her training continues unimpeded, and they can maintain a modicum of discretion in public, we should be able to quell the inevitable rumors. Here is an updated list of histories for the Inquisitor to review; see them delivered to her quarters before supper, please. And do be careful, my dear Josephine. As the Inquisition’s ambassador you mustn’t allow your own penchant for frivolous romance to give the nobility reason to doubt your sincerity to the greater cause.”  
  
The Ambassador accepted the list and escorted her to the door. “Rest assured, Madame de Fer, _my_ sincerity has never been called into question. The books shall be delivered. I bid you good evening.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Anaan’s gut churned as Cullen and Varric recounted their personal experiences with red lyrium in a small private dining room of the Herald’s Rest. Their meals sat half-eaten and cold, though between the group they were well into a third bottle of Antivan wine.  
  
Finally, he lit his pipe and declared, “Gentlemen, I thank you both for your candor. That...was a _very_ different account of the Qun's siege of Kirkwall than I’d heard, and clarifies a lot of things.”  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence before Varric asked Cullen, _“Now_  do you see why I said he’s the most un-Qunari Qunari I’ve ever met?”  
  
“I do indeed. And you’re very welcome, Master Anaan.”  
  
Varric refilled their glasses. “I know you came for insight on red lyrium, Anaan, but this is just too unique an opportunity to pass up. Now that you know the full story, I’d like your opinion on what happened, from a Tal-Vashoth’s perspective.”  
  
“Well, bear in mind we were in Ansburg by then, and the city states don’t usually concern themselves with the troubles of their neighbors unless it directly affects trade. The first warning we had was when Taar and I suddenly lost contracts with some valued clients in and around Kirkwall."  
  
"You're not the first Tal-Vashoth I've heard that from," the dwarf replied. "Though you seem to have weathered the storm."  
  
"Not entirely unscathed, but better than most, aye. Our respective reputations were solid enough by then to carry us until things settled down, though many folk in other communities weren’t so lucky.”  
  
Varric winced. “I can imagine. And with Kirkwall still in a state of recovery, most folks didn’t really give much thought to how your civilian population would answer for it. In fact, most don’t know the difference between Qunari, Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth at all.”  
  
“Few bother to try either. It didn’t matter that we had nothing to do with the attack, just having horns was enough to condemn the lot of us. Even now, seven years past, some Marchers still feel that way.”  
  
“If there’s one thing I've learned from serving in Kirkwall," Cullen said, "it’s never to underestimate a Marcher’s capacity to hold a grudge. They’re almost as bad as Orlesians.”  
  
“Truer words were never spoken, _Serah._ But to answer your question, Varric, I think the former Arishok was a damned fool, who lost his way, his men, and ultimately his head, over a book. The whole debacle was a black eye for the Qun on many levels.”  
  
“Really? Not even a little sympathy?”  
  
“None,” Anaan growled. “I don’t care how precious the belief, _no_ relic is worth what he did. The smarter move would have been to coordinate with local spies and guards, quietly track down the thief, and go home with your honor intact. But, the Antaam are the swinging hammer of the Qun, and anything that offends its Arishok is nothing but a nail.”  
  
Varric swirled the dregs of wine in his glass and studied Anaan thoughtfully. “Do you mind my asking how old you were when you left the Qun?”  
  
“I was thirty when I officially became Tal-Vashoth, though in my heart I’d left long before then." He leaned back in his chair and grinned around the stem of his pipe. "I think what you’re _really_ asking, however, is how did I survive so long without getting turned over to the Reeducators for my blasphemous attitude?”  
  
"Now that you mention it, yes. You just have way too much personality for me to ever imagine you as a drone of the Qun like the ones I met in Kirkwall."  
  
“Why, _Messere_ Tethras, you already know from Bull that the Ben-Hassrath aren’t in the habit of wasting a useful tool. I was a different man then, and I was  _very_ useful.”  
  
“Oh sweet Maker!" Cullen exclaimed. "You were one of their spies as well? Did you know this Varric?”  
  
“No, but I suspected it. This certainly adds weight to your threat to ‘beware the men who lived to old age in professions where most die young’. By the way, Anaan, I’m going to use that line in a future book, just so you know.”  
  
“You’re welcome to it.” Anaan winked. “Please, be at ease, Commander. As I’ve already said, I turned my back on that life long before my daughter was born. I’m no more Ben-Hassrath now than you’re still a templar. Old habits die hard, don’t they?”  
  
“Yes,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, they do. Would I be correct in assuming this fact isn’t common knowledge, and does the Inquisitor know?”  
  
“You are correct, and she does, though she didn’t hear it directly from me. I’d taught her how to spot an agent when she was a child, for her own safety, and after a few months around Bull, she realized her Papa shared many of the same habits. I'd expected she’d run into an agent at some point in her travels, but I didn't expect she’d end up marrying one.”  
  
Varric laughed. “Oh, to have been a fly on the wall the first time you and Bull properly met! I’m amazed it didn’t end in bloodshed!”  
  
“I’m ashamed to say it nearly did."  
  
"But didn't Meraad warn you about him?"   
  
“Didn't get the chance. She was drained from the fight and healing everyone after, though at the time only Bull knew just how badly. I chatted with him as he got her settled into bed, and I appreciated the way he took care of her. That was why I gave him the chance to gear up, face me on his feet, and die with dignity.”  
  
Cullen nearly choked on his wine. “Now, I’ve sparred with Bull, and I know how ardent he is in defense of his wife. So I can't decide what’s more alarming, the fact you were willing to face him in close quarters combat, or just how self-assured you are that you’d win. From any other man, I’d call that deluded overconfidence. No offense.”  
  
“None taken, and I don’t usually make a habit of picking a fight at all if I can help it. But with due respect to Bull, my brother is of similar size and training, and we’ve sparred the better part of fifty years, so I know a few tricks. What mattered in that moment was defending my child from a man I'd recognized as an agent of the Qun, so you’re damned right I was going to win, by any means necessary, and he knew it. I've no doubt he’d have made me earn it, though. Thankfully neither of us had to put that resolve to the test.”  
  
Varric shoved his plate aside and leaned forward in anticipation. “Talk about a stalemate! Two veteran fighters, both driven to defend the woman they love for different, though equally passionate, reasons. What happened next?”  
  
"Bull kissed her goodbye and rose from the bed, but refused to touch his armor or weapons. He politely suggested I sit with her so she'd feel one of us was close by, and asked for nothing but the chance to explain himself."  
  
“Holy shit, I can see him doing it too! Still, that's pretty ballsy, even for Bull."  
  
“Well, he certainly impressed me enough to give him his chance, and I've never been happier to be proven wrong as I was that night. At that point he didn't know I’d been an agent, though it didn't take him long to deduce. In the end, we talked things out and he’s become a fine addition to our family since.”  
  
Cullen shook his head in amazement. “For as much as I already respect The Iron Bull, my opinion of the man has just improved dramatically, as it has of you. I dread to think of Lady Meraad’s reaction if either of you had died that night over such a misunderstanding. It’s a credit to you both that you kept your heads and worked it out peacefully. If only more of those we dealt with possessed such an ability to think beyond themselves, it might have prevented the war from ever happening.”  
  
Varric nudged Cullen’s shoulder. “Bet you never expected a Qunari to lead by example on that, did you, Curly? Pardon me, Tal-Vashoth.”  
  
“Definitely Tal-Vashoth.” Anaan smirked. “If I’d still been Qunari, the Inquisitor as you know her would never have been born. Personally, I prefer the alternative. But we’ve now ventured far off our original topic, and if you don’t mind my saying, Cullen, you have the look of a man in dire need of a good night’s rest. Quite a few of them, in fact.”  
  
The Commander chuckled tiredly. “You’re not wrong, and tonight’s discussion has been a painful reminder why. However, I refuse to send our forces into the field unprepared, and as you are now a part of our forces, I’d be remiss in my duty if I withheld valuable information just to avoid my own discomfort. Have you any other questions we might answer?”  
  
“Not about the lyrium, no. You’ve both given me a great deal to consider, and after what I’ve seen and heard, I couldn’t call myself much of a man if I stood by and let people suffer when I could be of use. Will you be coming along on this western escapade, Varric?”  
  
“Yeah." Varric finished his glass of wine in one swallow and grimaced. "I feel partially responsible for red lyrium being loose in the world, so I like to help destroy it when I can. And Meraad and Bull weren’t exaggerating the danger at all, that shit is no joke.”  
  
Anaan tamped out his pipe, finished his wine and stood, nodding in respect to both men. “On _that_ cheerful note, I think it’s time I seek my bunk. Dinner and drinks are on me, gentlemen, and thank you once again for your time. Good night.”  
  
He walked out of the tavern toward the keep, his mind racing too much for sleep.  
  
_She warned me. She warned me, and I didn’t listen.  
  
Sod it. We all have to die someday. If I can’t go out having great sex, I may as well go out fighting._  
  
_Just wish there was more time to send word home that I'll be delayed. Maybe, if we’re lucky, the kids can come back with me to the village for a short visit when this mission is over._  
  
At the first landing of the stairs to the inner keep, Anaan spared a glance toward the stables.  
  
_Wonder if Amber will still be up? It would be nice to enjoy some pleasant company tonight rather than dwell on this misery, but she does keep pretty early hours. Gotta remember to make sure to see her before I go. Maybe have Cabot set aside a bottle of that sweet mead she likes.  
  
_ With a plan in mind, he cleared the first guard post and crossed the dark throne room toward the rotunda, pausing to admire the line of impressive frescoes Solas had painted as a chronicle of Meraad’s journey as Inquisitor.  
  
_The Breach and the formation of the Inquisition...Her alliance with the rebel mages...the attack on Haven…_  
  
Anaan scowled as he recalled his daughter’s account of that attack, his eyes drawn to the rendering of her nemesis, Corypheus.  
  
_That’s the bastard that started all this, the one Meraad still has nightmares about. Leave it to my kid, she couldn’t just piss off a noble, she had to go and earn the enmity of a would-be god._  
  
He touched the blank wall next to the last of the current frescoes, silently praying to any god who might listen for Meraad and Bull to live long enough to retire safely together. Then, with one last glare at their mutual enemy, he headed upstairs to the Rookery.

 


	3. Best Intentions

 

  
Skyhold’s library truly impressed the old smith. He kept a small collection of literature at home, but books were costly and difficult to acquire so far away from the city. It was a rare treat to be afforded free access to so many in one place, even if the bulk of the current collection was mostly Chantry propaganda.  
  
More than the books, however, Anaan enjoyed visiting some of the locals that frequented the library, most notably, Lord Dorian Pavus. The young mage was refreshingly unlike any other Tevinter Anaan had known, and it didn't take long to see the intelligent and kind-hearted man under that charming bravado. Despite their conflicting heritage, the two struck a genuine friendship, and spent many hours together in lively debate or playing chess in the garden.  
  
Anaan was not at all surprised to see a lamp lit in Dorian’s alcove at this late hour. The man himself sat artfully draped in his favorite chair, engrossed in a large tome, with a glass of red wine close by.  
  
“ _Avanna_ , Dorian,” Anaan softly called. “I do hope that wine isn’t all you’ve had for dinner tonight?”  
  
Dorian startled then laughed. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ _,_ Anaan Adaar! Do warn a body, please! It’s unnerving for a man of your stature to move so bloody quietly. You’re as bad as The Iron Bull, and I’m beginning to think the pair of you are doing it on purpose now!”  
  
“Apologies, _Messere_ _,_ it’s old habit.” Anaan grinned. “When you’re Qunari living among humans, you learn to pick up your feet or people make jokes about stampedes. And you didn’t answer my question.”  
  
“I suppose there’s no point in lying to you. Yes, it is. They were serving a fish pie of questionable origin that didn’t look remotely appetizing, then I lost myself in reading.”  
  
“Aye, the cook made an attempt at Starkhaven fish and egg pie. Got a little aggressive with the salt, but it wasn’t the worst I’ve tried. That aside, you should get some proper food in you. Here.” He reached into his belt pouch and retrieved one of Taar’s trail bars. “It’s not much, but should tide you over till you get something else on board.”  
  
“Thank you. I am famished now that I think on it, and admit I’ve grown rather fond of these atrocious things. But what brings you up here so late? Do you come seeking my sparkling conversation, or have you a mission to the rookery?”  
  
“I was in fact headed to the rookery, though I’ve time for a visit if it’s no imposition on your studies.”  
  
Dorian waved indifferently at the heavy tome. “Not at all, my dear fellow, this is just a bit of light reading. Please, do sit. You look as though something’s troubling you.”  
  
“Astute as always.” Anaan collected a chair from a nearby table and placed it backwards near Dorian’s. The wood creaked under his giant frame as he straddled the seat to rest his arms across the high wooden back. “I badly misread my daughter today, young Pavus, and it’s bitten me squarely in the ass.”  
  
“Now, I’m sure it couldn’t be as bad as all that. I don’t recall ever hearing her say a cross word to you that wasn’t in jest.”  
  
“ _Ohh,_ don’t fool yourself! That sweet face hides a temper when motivated, and I motivated her.”  
  
As the young mage quietly ate, Anaan summarized his meeting in the garden, concluding with the Inquisitor’s command that he’d be joining them on their mission to Orlais. Dorian hissed in sympathy.  
  
“ _Kaffas_ _,_ yes, I do see what you mean. Well, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. I claim no expertise on the subject of nurturing mothers, but I happen to agree that Meraad would make a fine one given the chance. I even believe The Bull, great lummox that he is, would make an excellent father.”  
  
Anaan chuckled. “Yes, he’s a good man, and it encourages me greatly they’ve learned to appreciate each other early on. Some of us didn’t learn that lesson until it was far too late.” He rubbed his temples. “But there’s something else here I’m not seeing, Dorian, and it’s nagging at me.”  
  
“How do you mean?”  
  
“I spoke without having all the facts about her obligations, I'll own that. But it’s still not like her to react that harshly, at least not to me. Something’s changed. Don’t suppose you might know what?”  
  
“I’m afraid I don't. But she has been under a great deal of pressure of late, and you did say she'd been spending the afternoon with Vivienne. That pretentious harpy can drive even the most serene of souls to acts of violence.”  
  
_“HA._ Well, there is that.” Anaan sighed. “You’re right, I may be reading too much into this, even if my gut is telling me otherwise. I expect if anything were wrong, she’d have told me by now.”  
  
The mage finished his wine and fingered a large pendant on a heavy chain around his neck.  
  
“I find myself in a bit of an awkward position here, Anaan, as I can sympathize with you both for different reasons. I understand how precious your family must be for you, given the great lengths you took to have one of your own. However, for all that I know you have only the best of intentions, I cannot offer an unbiased opinion. Among the nobility of Tevinter, ‘family’ is little more than a tree carefully pruned for power, without any consideration given to actual compatibility.” He spat through clenched teeth, “The _legacy_ is all that matters.”  
  
The vehemence in his tone surprised Anaan. “Something about _you_ has changed recently as well, young man, ever since you returned from Fallow Mire. If you’ve a mind to talk about it, I’m willing to listen. Or, feel free to tell me to sod off and mind my own business.”  
  
Dorian burst out laughing, even as his eyes shone with unshed tears. “You and Meraad are so much alike. Yes, something did happen, though it wasn’t in that dreadful Fallow Mire. It was during our journey home.” He poured himself another glass of wine, and recounted their team’s detour to Redcliffe, culminating in the unexpected visit from his father, Magister Halward.   
  
“Initially, I was upset with Meraad for not telling me of the meeting, until my father admitted he'd led her to believe we’d only meet with a messenger. Conversely, he hadn’t expected I would be accompanied by the Dread Inquisitor.”  
  
“Quite the scandal for a Magister to attend a clandestine meeting with a Qunari apostate, particularly one who's been openly opposing Tevinter extremists.”  
  
“Indeed. And after a very uncomfortable introduction, my father further confessed that he believed that I’d only joined the Inquisition to spite him.”  
  
“Was he right?”  
  
“No." Dorian’s expression darkened.  "I fled south to escape _his_ ‘best intentions’. He was rather disappointed, you see, to discover his scion had no desire to participate in the Tevinter breeding game.”  
  
“Because you’re a confirmed bachelor, or due to your preference for male partners? Or both?”  
  
Dorian hesitated, carefully weighing Anaan’s tone for signs of judgement, then relaxed when he found none.   
  
“Both, in point of fact. Does that bother you?”  
  
“Does it bother you that I prefer bedding women?”  
  
“I...well, no. I can’t say I’ve given it any thought, to be honest.”  
  
“There’s your answer. It’s not my, or anyone’s, place to tell you who or how to love, nor does it change my opinions of you.”  
  
“I sincerely thank you for that. Unfortunately, my family disagrees. Father had arranged what could have been a tremendously successful betrothal for me to a beautiful, intelligent, and gifted woman. Naturally, I refused. I'd told him I had no desire to become trapped in a loveless marriage as he had, solely for the sake of appearances.”    
  
He glanced at Anaan over the top of his wine glass. “I suppose that must sound terribly selfish to you, given how much the Qunari also revere tradition and selective breeding.”  
  
“Dorian, the only Qunari who really give a shit about ‘breeding’ are the Tamassrans. For the rest of us, it was just another an act of duty, like being sent for a physical, and about as entertaining. Assuming all my seed bore fruit from when I was called to serve, Meraad has at least six older siblings out there somewhere. But we’ll likely never know them, just as they likely wouldn’t appreciate knowing about us."  
  
"I can only imagine how odd that must be, to know you may have other living children, yet no hand in their upbringing."  
  
"Didn't think about it at all back then. It just wasn't our way. But I'd be lying if I said I've never wondered about them since, especially with my daughter grown now. A petty part of me can't help but hope that if the others are alive, they're rebellious little shits too.”  Anaan reached out and rested his hand on Dorian’s slim shoulder.  
  
“The point is, I haven’t been ‘Qunari’ in over thirty years, so I don’t think you’re selfish. It takes a great deal of courage to stay true to yourself, though I expect your father took it poorly.”  
  
“You’ve a gift for understatement. Father took it so poorly, in fact, he felt he had no other recourse than to research the use of blood magic to compel me into compliance. Despite the chance I might have been left a mindless husk by the process, he deemed that an acceptable risk so long as I was still able to breed. Thus I learned my true worth, all for the sake of his fucking _legacy.”_  
  
An oppressive silence filled the alcove. Anaan crossed his arms over the back of the chair seat and quietly replied,  “Dorian, I’m afraid I don’t care very much for your father.”  
  
“There are many who share that opinion, my friend. The moment he revealed himself in that tavern, I’d intended to leave, but Meraad urged me to hear him out, if only for my own peace of mind. So I did.”  
  
“And what did he have to say for himself?”  
  
“He confessed his remorse for his actions, and sought my forgiveness, which of course was the last thing I'd expected to hear. This man had taught me blood magic was the last resort of the weak mind, yet felt his cause worthy enough to potentially sacrifice my future for his own! How could I _possibly_ trust him again? Yet he seemed so desperately sincere, and had even risked the journey himself to see me. It was knowing I had the support of a friend who understood that gave me the strength to confront him openly and honestly, and I regret nothing of it. I don't know that my relationship with him may ever be what it was, but at least he knows where I stand now. I'm thankful Meraad encouraged me to face him.”  
  
The old smith sighed. “My daughter is a compassionate woman, but if I'm honest I think in this she may also have been seeking a bit of closure for herself.”  
  
“In what way? I find it difficult to believe there was ever bad blood between the two of you.”  
  
“Not with me. With her mother." He reached for his pipe, then thought of all the books and reconsidered. Dorian produced a second wineglass and held up the bottle in silent question, and Anaan decided one more glass wouldn't hurt.  
  
"You Adaars seem such a close-knit clan," the mage observed. "I've often heard Meraad speak of you, her uncle, and her aunt with great fondness, but I don't ever recall mention of her mother. Is your wife at home in your village, then?"  
  
Anaan drank deeply before replying. "No. My wife died when Meraad was very young. That was part of why we moved to Ansburg."  
  
"Please accept my apologies and condolences. I gather from your previous statement their relationship was unpleasant?"  
  
"No need for apologies. And yes it was."  He took another drink of the potent wine. "I wasn't home much back then. I was a navigator for a merchant fleet, at sea for weeks at a time. In my absence, my late wife, Asha, started teaching Meraad about the Qun, something I'd forbidden. Asha was mad at me for leaving her on her own with a child in a strange land, never mind that I was doing so to provide for them both. Then things went to the Void when Meraad’s magic manifested when she was six.”  
  
“Unusually young, though not unheard of,” Dorian interjected. “I was close to the same age when my own gifts awakened, much to my father’s delight.”  
  
“Her mother was horrified. You have to understand, Asha had been a devout Tamassran and healer before we became Tal-Vashoth. Part of a Tama's duties are to rehabilitate those overwhelmed by stress, and caring for those too physically impaired to care for themselves. In Seheron, that usually meant soldiers who were mentally and physically scarred by magic."  
  
Dorian stared into the dregs of his wineglass. "Like Bull. He once spoke of some of the horrors he'd seen during his time in service there, and I've witnessed Meraad help him recover from nightmares at camp, as he has for her."  
  
"That man has been scarred by far more than magic, young Pavus, but that isn't my tale to tell. Suffice it to say, you're right."  
  
"So, in addition to fanatically adhering to the magic-hating tenets of the Qun, your wife's experience as a healer soured her further against it. Duly noted. But surely she wouldn't hold a child accountable for that?"  
  
Anaan nodded. "I'm sorry to say she did. And the warning signs were all there if I'd only had the wit to see them at the time. Bad enough Asha began to see our daughter as a rival for my affection, but for Meraad to then manifest magical ability..."  He took another drink. "The thought that she’d given birth to a _saarebas_ was, to Asha, her ultimate failure. A punishment for abandoning the Qun. It broke her."  
  
"I say this with kindness. Anaan. You're investing inordinate effort to rationalize your wife's actions, even blaming yourself, before revealing what happened to your daughter. I find that alarming."  
  
The elder Adaar fell silent, blinking in surprise at the accusation. Then he stared at his wineglass, calculated just how much he'd already drank that night, and set the empty glass aside.  
  
"Huh. What is the phrase you say in Tevinter? _In vino veritas? "_  
  
" _'In wine, truth',_ indeed, my friend." Dorian produced a pitcher of water from a nearby cabinet and filled a fresh glass. "An alternative, then. Please, do continue. I'm listening."  
  
Anaan closed his eyes, resigned to his task. "Meraad had been suffering terrible headaches for weeks. She’d often been sick as a child, so Asha was able to convince the rest of the family it was nothing unusual. We didn’t know she'd been dosing Meraad with  _magebane_ all along.”  
  
“Wh.. _what?!_ The poor child! How long did this go on?”  
  
“Over six months." Anaan replied, his voice heavy with guilt. "Asha had arranged transport for herself and Meraad on a ship back to Seheron, timed for when I’d be away. She would give her _imesaar-bas_ , her ‘demon child’, to the Tamassrans, and let them dispose of her as they do all _saarebas_. I’d have come home to an empty house and never known what happened to my family."  
  
"Obviously something thwarted her horrific plan, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."  
  
"Yes. Asha was forced to increase the dose to keep Meraad’s power dormant, leaving her too weak to safely travel, which delayed their departure. For all that Asha may have hated our daughter’s ‘curse’, she wouldn’t deliberately kill her own child. That would be wasteful, and a  _saarebas_ could still find purpose in service to the Qun. I think Asha truly believed that she could trade Meraad to be reinstated to her old position. A fool's hope."  
  
"Why? Ah, let me guess, after so long living as a 'corrupted Tal-Vashoth', the Qunari reeducators would simply choose to poison her, leaving her a mindless laborer for the rest of her life."  
  
"As I said, you're very astute."  
  
“Do forgive my lack of sympathy for the woman," Dorian seethed.  "But it’s a wonder your daughter survived! A credit to your Qunari constitution, I expect, as I doubt a human child would have lasted as long.”  
  
“Meraad was damned lucky is what she was, and in the end it was all for nothing anyway. While I was on my way home, our farm was attacked by darkspawn. Three of the bastards murdered the livestock in the stable, and when Asha went out to see what was wrong, they attacked her too."  
  
"Maker's breath. And where was Meraad?"  
  
"In her bed where she'd been told to stay, up until she heard her mother scream. Ironically, that ‘demon child’, knowing nothing of own abilities, ran out into unknown danger to help her mama. Once she saw the beasts, and Asha on the ground, her suppressed powers woke with a vengeance and destroyed them all, but not before the leader threw her against the side of the house. By the time the child recovered her senses, the darkspawn were charred husks, and Asha was gone.”  
  
“Gone?! Where could she possibly have gone?”  
  
“Meraad told me she’d followed Asha’s trail into the barn, and found her mother on the floor in a pool of blood. But when she tried to comfort her, Asha shoved her away. My wife's final words to our daughter were, _‘katara, saarebas.'_   ‘Die, dangerous thing.’"  
  
The high back of the wooden chair gave a threatening pop where the smith's hands gripped it in his fury. Startled by the sound, Anaan immediately relaxed and drew a shuddering breath to compose himself, silently cursing his lack of self-control.  
  
"That poor girl carried that curse for nearly twenty-five years, believing it had been her magic, not the darkspawn, that killed her mother. It wasn’t until Meraad found me at the Freehold that the truth finally came out. Even I didn’t know the full story until then. But that’s a big part of why Meraad has always been driven to help others: to prove she’s not the evil thing her mother convinced her she was.”  
  
“I had no idea.” Dorian said. "It's oddly poetic, I suppose, that her mother should be felled by an enemy even more heartless than she."  
  
At Anaan's stricken expression, the mage quickly added, "I do appreciate that she was your wife, Anaan, and I am not without sympathy for your loss. But, sentiment aside, what she did was heartless. My own mother may have been indifferent, but she was never blatantly cruel. Your innocent child was nearly sold into mutilated servitude to the Qun for the sake of spite, with the worst part being she that would have gone willingly as she had no reason to distrust her mother. That is outrageous!"   
  
The mage angrily rose from his chair and stalked to the window. "May I safely assume the rest of your family did not share your wife’s beliefs?”  
  
“Absolutely not. And if I'm honest with myself, you're right, Dorian. What Asha did was heartless. I'd already been angry to learn she'd was teaching our daughter the Qun behind my back, but to learn about her plan, compounded by the guilt Meraad had been unjustly carrying for so long? That...that has been a hard thing for me to reconcile. I felt like I failed her. Failed them both."  
  
"But you haven't, Anaan! Between yourself and your remaining family, you've raised your daughter with love and acceptance, both for her gifts, and herself. That is far more than the majority of mages can claim. Further, you've taught her how to accept others, which is sorely needed right now. Hundreds of lives have already been improved because of those lessons."  
  
Anaan stared at Dorian, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat as he considered the man's words.  "Thank you for that. Gotta admit it wasn’t easy hiding two apostates in one household away from the chantry's notice. It helped that my brother and I have good standing in the village, and that Meraad and her Aunt Hissera were both healers in a remote region two days ride from outside help. A lot of the community owes them their lives, and were willing to keep their mouths shut because of it.”  
  
“Knowing how abominably the Qunari treat their mages, I might have said the templars would not be as cruel by comparison had they found them. But the more I consider it, that too would be foolishly optimistic. I have heard no accounts of a Vashoth afforded entry into a Circle for training. She certainly wouldn't have been in Tevinter. So, assuming these southern templars didn’t just kill Meraad, they would likely have rendered her Tranquil, which, speaking as a mage, is a fate far worse than death. But why did Meraad not speak of any of this after we returned?”  
  
“Honestly, Dorian, I think she felt guilty for not warning you about the meeting with your father. More than that, she knew you were working through your own pain, without burdening you with hers. Though if it’s any consolation, aiding you may have helped give her a sense of peace she’ll never know with Asha.”  
  
“Thank you for confiding in me," Dorian took Anaan’s great hands in his own. "I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to completely forgive my father for what he did. But since coming here, I’ve found strength in good company, who have shown me greater tolerance and acceptance than I’ve ever known. And I'll have you know you have both defied all expectations of what we are taught about you ‘Qunari savages’ in Tevinter.”  
  
“It’s my genuine pleasure to prove them wrong, Altus Pavus.”  
  
The smith returned his chair to the nearby table. “I shared that tale solely to let you know that, regardless of race or culture, being a parent is a rough ride. We’re none of us infallible, though often expected to be. I’m not excusing what happened with your father, and you've every right to be angry. But from my own experience, I can also appreciate how easy it is to delude yourself into thinking you know what’s best for your child, without considering it may only have been best for yourself.”  
  
“You are a good man, Anaan Adaar. There is a world of difference between thoughtlessness and malice, and I sincerely doubt Meraad will hold your actions today against you. Although, dragging you out into the wilderness to fight red templars may be punishment in itself. For my part, I am pleased you’ll be joining us. At least the conversation will be entertaining for a change!”  
  
Dorian shelved his book and snuffed out the lamp. “Now, if you don't mind, I should like to accompany you to the rookery. It may simply be the wine speaking, but I feel a sudden compulsion to send a letter to my father.”  
  
“You’d be more than welcome." Anaan grinned, feeling lighter of heart than when he arrived. "I’m actually beginning to look forward to this trip now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevene translations:  
> Avanna = Hello  
> Festis bei umo canavarum! = You will be the death of me!  
> Kaffas = Shit  
> This chapter is respectfully dedicated to my friend Schattenriss for his invaluable feedback, particularly in regards to darling Dorian. I *highly* recommend his works! <3


	4. Groundwork

 

The following morning Anaan received a message from the Inquisitor:       
 

 

> **_Report to Master Dennet for assignment and training with a new mount, then please meet me at the mage tower by one o’clock. -- M  
>  _ **

****_  
_ But as he entered the shadows of the stable, a large, reptilian maw snapped at him over the top of a stall door.  
  
“Koslun’s great swinging ballsack, what is _THAT?!_ ”  
  
Master Dennet looked up from his workbench and chuckled. “ _That_ , my friend, is a dracolisk, and believe it or not, it’s a mount. Galls me to say it, but they’re better suited for that abyssal desert you lot are heading for than our horses. That one belongs to your daughter.”  
  
“Of _course_ it does. She said to come down and pick up a new mount this morning, but didn’t mention this. Are the beasts always that snippy?”  
  
The horsemaster approached the dracolisk, crooning softly. After taking a moment to read his scent, the animal rubbed its face against his weathered hand like a contented cat.  
  
“Can be til they’re used to you. I’m still getting familiar with them myself. I wouldn’t trust one to an inexperienced rider, as they like to test the reins, but they’re strong, responsive, and disturbingly smart.”  
  
A dark-haired human stepped out of one of the end stalls, wiping his hands on a cloth, and Dennet waved him over. “Here's the man who could tell you more, though. Caleb Tannin. He arrived with this herd, and he’ll be wrangling the mounts for your team in the Approach. Cal, this is Master Anaan Adaar, one of the finest wainwrights in Thedas.”  
  
Anaan smiled disarmingly as he shook the man’s offered hand. _Tall for a human, Nevarran by the look of him. Couldn’t be older than mid-twenties. Walks like a swordsman, well-fed, tailored work clothes. Could be a minor noble, though by those callouses he’s no stranger to working with his hands. Likely a rich merchant’s scion._  
  
“Well met, _Messere_ Tannin. Dracolisk breeding seems a bit of a niche market. This a family trade?”  
  
“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Adaar. Yes, these are from my family’s ranch near Perendale. Our mounts have been in great demand over the last year, but the Inquisition made an offer far too good to refuse. However,  _Messere_ Tannin is my lord father. Please, call me Cal.”  
  
“Cal it is, if you call me Anaan.” He gestured to Meraad’s mount. “I'm told these mounts are unusually smart?”  
  
Cal beamed with pride. “They are. Dracolisks have exceptional senses, and can remember a wide variety of simple commands. This of course also means they won’t suffer mistreatment, and are willing to hold a grudge. Part of why I’m here is to help ensure smooth pairings.” The dracolisk closed her eyes and trilled as Cal rubbed the ridges under her primary horns. “This spirited lady is a Desert Lightning. They’re rare to find and harder to tame, but extremely loyal. She’s a gift from my family to the Herald of Andraste, and the rest of the herd defer to her.”  
  
Anaan couldn't deny the uncanny intelligence in the dracolisk’s golden eyes as he stroked her scaly snout. “Well met, milady. I’m Anaan, your friend’s sire. I hope we’ll be friends too.”  
  
She tilted and dipped her head in response, then snuffled his silver hair and rubbed his curled horns, earning a delighted laugh from the young handler. “See there, Anaan! Note the way her eyes narrowed, that change of color along the front of her throat, and hear that purr? She likes you!”  
  
Cal escorted him down the line of occupied stalls, seeking the dracolisks not yet marked as claimed. “You have good instincts when it comes to animals, _Serah_. That’s a blessing. It should be far less of a challenge to find you a suitable match than some of the others.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
“Some people find it difficult to accept dracolisks are more than mindless beasts of burden, which, to my mind, is unfortunate. However, I must remember that I've had more time to get to know them.”  
  
_Something in his tone...he’s nervous, and protective. He’s sizing us all up, trying to determine whether the herd is safe here. What spooked him?_  
  
“It was kind of your family to send one of their own to help educate us them," Anaan casually remarked.   
  
There was a touch of bitterness in Cal's polite chuckle. “Well, it wasn't as if they couldn’t spare me. But, in truth, I volunteered. My Lord father may not have minded, but the Inquisitor’s reputation for dragon hunting concerned me. More than that, one of her counselors is a _Pentaghast_ , a notorious family of dragon-slayers. Then I saw Lady Meraad's throne...she even wears a dragon's  _tooth_ around her neck! Can you appreciate why I worry for my charges, _Serah_?”  
  
“Ah. Yes, yes I do. Tell me, your dracolisks don’t terrorize the countryside, tearing up farmsteads, and killing livestock, do they?”  
  
“Of course not!”  
  
“The Fereldan Frostback did, son. I can assure you the Inquisitor has more reason than most to respect dragons and dragonkin. They have great cultural significance to our folk, which is also tied to that tooth she wears. Beyond that, as a _healer_ , she’s the last person to abuse any companion, two-legged or four, under her care, nor would she condone any of her team doing so.”  
  
“I-I beg your pardon, I meant no offense to the Lady or to you. It's just...I helped raise and train this herd, and some of them are dearer to me than my own kin. I only want to know they’re going to a worthy home.”  
  
“Never apologize for caring," Anaan smiled. "It’s good they have someone to speak for them, and don’t hesitate to do so if you believe they’re ever being mishandled. In the meantime, maybe you can tell me what some of these other breeds are, and help me find a friend of my own to train with, hmm?”  
  
“Oh, yes! The green ones there are known as Sharp-Tails. The red ones are Blue River Banes, and the sandy brown ones are Abyssal Hang-Tooths. All are equally well-suited for desert transport."  
  
"Pardon my skepticism, but as thin as they are it's a bit difficult to believe they're stronger than a horse, even in a hot climate."  
  
"Nor would you be the first to make that assumption, but it's true. They're also omnivorous, and can withstand extreme heat with less water. Some were additionally harness trained to drive your wagons.”  
  
Master Dennet called for Cal’s assistance, and the wrangler encouraged Anaan to wander the stalls until he returned, to see if one of the dracolisks might appeal to him. At first glance, none particularly caught his attention, but as he turned to rejoin Cal in the main stable, he found himself facing the grinning maw of a large, green-scaled Sharp-Tail. Despite its size, the beast successfully sneaked up on him, and by the unmistakable amusement in its eyes Anaan had no doubt that was exactly what the creature had intended.   
  
“Well, hello there!”   
  
Cal stepped around the corner. “Anaan? Are you ready to...hey, how did YOU get out?”  
  
“I believe he was looking for me, Cal. You are a he, am I right?”  
  
“Yes he is, one of our older males. You can tell by the slightly larger head and darker horns. We call him Felix. I'm afraid he’s a bit of a mischief-maker.”  
  
“A fellow after my own heart.” Anaan bowed slightly in respect before offering his hand to sniff. “Felix is a fine name, but how do you feel about _‘Mertam’_?”  
  
“Is that a Qunlat word?” Cal ventured. “I’m afraid I don’t speak the language.”  
  
“It surely is, it means ‘light boot’. Seems only fitting for the sneaky bastard that managed to get the drop on me, don’t you think?”  
  
The dracolisk bobbed his head, then gently butted Anaan’s chest with his muzzle, immensely pleased with himself. Cal laughed, drew a notebook from his apron, and, after verifying the spelling, recorded the name change.  
  
“Well, now that’s settled, let’s fetch his tack, and you two can get better acquainted.”

 

* * *

 

Anaan quickly discovered that Dennet’s claims of dracolisk capriciousness were well founded, but by the time he returned Mertam to his stall at midday, the pair were well on their way to a solid partnership.  
  
“Found a new ride already, have you, Anaan?” A woman’s voice teased from the stable door. “Should I be jealous?”  
  
He grinned broadly as Amber, Dennet’s assistant and lead veterinarian, stepped into the light. Like many Ferelden farm folk, she was tall and solidly-built for a human, with sun-kissed skin, a sprinkling of silver in her thick brown hair, and merry eyes as blue as a midsummer sky.  
  
“No ma’am. Mertam may be almost as spirited in the saddle as you, but he’s nowhere near as pretty.”  
  
He welcomed her into his arms and kissed her head as she snuggled against his broad chest. “Fine day to you, Amber. I’d planned to come find you once I was done here.”  
  
“Great minds think alike, then. I didn’t want to disturb your training, so I thought I’d check in on Jessamyn and Jax for you. I’m happy to report that Jax’s cough is completely gone. They’re both doing fine.”  
  
“I’m much obliged to you. Those two have seen me and my wagon through some rough trails over the years. I feared I'd pushed them too hard on the crossing down here, especially when that cough started outside of Pilgrim’s Path. It brought us all into your beautiful hands, however, so I'd say it worked out well in the end.”  
  
“Smooth talker. What are your plans today, milord?”  
  
“I’m supposed to meet Meraad at the mage tower shortly, but I figured I'd head to the tavern for lunch first. Would you care to join me?”  
  
“I’d love to!” She beamed, wrapping an arm around his waist as they walked across the lower courtyard. “In fact, I’m off for the rest of the day. Once I heard you’d be leaving with the Inquisitor’s team, I traded shifts with Samuel this morning to give us some time together.”  
  
“Well, in _that_ case, maybe I’ll just order that meal for delivery and we can enjoy it somewhere more conducive to a proper send off. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to tell you about the trip myself, Blossom. It was a bit of a last minute decision on the Inquisitor’s part.”  
  
“No need to be explainin’. We both have our duties, and family comes first. We’ll just make the best of the time we have, and a private picnic sounds like a lovely way to do it. My quarters or yours?”  
  
“Mine. It’s a fine day, the garden’s in bloom, and I’ve a sturdier bed. We nearly broke yours last time.”  
  
Amber laughed lustily, uncaring of the curious stares from the soldiers milling about the upper courtyard as the couple passed. “Actually, it did break. I found out the next morning. You should have seen Morris blush when I requisitioned a new one!”  
  
The main door of the Herald’s Rest had been propped open to welcome the summer breeze, and Anaan kept his left eye tightly closed as he crossed the threshold and stepped into the shadows beside the door. He waited a few seconds to open it again, allowing him to quickly adjust to the dim light within.  
  
The room was nearly empty.  
  
“Huh. The place is usually packed by now." He escorted Amber to the bar and called, "Afternoon, Cabot. Bit quiet in the house today. Special occasion?”  
  
The dwarven bartender nodded back in greeting before replying, “Damned if I know, Anaan. Last I heard there’s some commotion at the mage tower and the bar cleared out, so if you want food, now’s the time to order before they all get back. I also set aside a couple bottles of that sweet mead you requested.” A shadow blocked the light from the open door and Cabot waved to the new arrival. “Hey Krem! Your order's ready. What’s going on?”  
  
“Thanks, Cabot," the slightly-winded Lieutenant replied. "Hey there, Master Anaan, milady Amber, I was hoping I might find you here. The Inquisitor’s dueling Dorian up at the Mage tower. Chief sent me to pick up the Inquisitor’s drink order.”  
  
“Dueling? What’s this about?”  
  
“Something to do with their desert training. They thought it might be good for morale to allow folks to watch them spar. Inquisitor’s saved you seats.”  
  
Anaan hesitated, not wishing to be discourteous, but Amber squeezed his hand and gave him a knowing smirk. “Don't even ask, I don’t mind. I’d like to see this too. We'll have plenty of time after.”  
  
The elder Adaar stroked her bobbed hair affectionately, then set a gold sovereign on the bar. “Cabot, if you can send the bottles, a round of sharp cheese, fresh bread, and some of Yvette’s herb roasted chicken to my room, along with a bit of that strawberry pie she was mentioning last night, you can keep the change.”  
  
“Consider it done, I’ll have it all there within the hour. Enjoy your evening.”  
  
They followed Krem up the battlements to the newly refurbished mage tower. A well-lit, heavily-warded training room had been built in the tower’s basement, surrounded by an outer gallery of raised seating for classroom observation, and already the benches were filled to capacity. More people blocked the corridor, but they quickly shoved aside as Krem barked, _“MAKE A HOLE!”_  
  
The lieutenant gestured the couple to a pair of reserved seats near ringside and approached his captain. After a moment’s conversation, Bull and Meraad looked up and waved to Anaan.  
  
“I’ve never been inside a mage tower before!” Amber declared. “At the risk of a silly question, are we safe in here?”  
  
“Aye. Think of this like a kind of school. The allied Mages need to keep their skills sharp just like soldiers do, and required a place to train where they wouldn’t be accidentally interrupted. See those odd marks on the pillars? I was told they’re templar runes to keep stray magic from getting outside the ring, and Seeker Pentaghast is down there to reinforce them. We’ll be fine. Looks like they're ready to start.”  
  
Mindful of public displays of affection, Bull patted Meraad’s shoulder for encouragement before the Inquisitor entered the ring to the sound of enthusiastic cheers. Another cheer went up when Dorian entered from the opposite side, and the two friends respectfully saluted each other, and Cassandra, in the center of the ring.  
  
Anaan had witnessed his daughter in battle at the Freehold, and seen her train in team tactics with Bull, but he’d never seen her properly duel with another mage before. Hissera wasn't a combat mage, so she'd only been able to teach Meraad a few basic defensive spells outside of healing. All else she'd learned well after leaving home.  
  
After a brief moment of quiet instructions, the Seeker directed the duelists to take positions and called, “LAY ON!”  
  
Instantly both mages raised barriers, and spent a few moments exchanging playful insults and experimental spells to test each other's defenses. Then without warning they unleashed their true power, and Anaan was fascinated to see the differences in their respective styles.  
  
_No mistaking Dorian’s Tevinter training: bold, lots of flash and fire, designed as much to incite fear in an enemy as to harm. He’s a showman right down to his wardrobe, with all those polished bits to catch the light and distract an opponent.  
  
__But Meraad...where did this aggression come from? She used to be so guarded with spells at home, now the only hesitation I see is her calculating where to strike. Is is because of that Knight-Enchanter thing I keep hearing about?_  
  
The duelists laughed and chased each other around the ring, their bladed staves spinning and flashing in the firelight. Cassandra stood unflinching as their spells raged around her, carefully assessing the combatants to award points. Anaan didn't understand the rules of the engagement, but by the the rising scores marked by an attendant at the side of the ring, it seemed the two were level-pegging each other.  
  
Between the flames and packed crowd, the gallery quickly grew stifling. A servant passed bearing water, and Anaan gratefully accepted some for himself and Amber. He spared a glance at the spectators as he drank, and noted the duel had not only drawn the attention of other mages and soldiers, but several visiting dignitaries who were even now watching the Inquisitor and her Tevinter companion with a mix of respect and fear.  
  
Madame de Fer sat among them, leisurely fanning herself while answering questions from the nobles beside her. The moment she sensed Anaan's gaze the mage raised her goblet to him with a patently false smile, and he politely returned the gesture, his expression never betraying his true thoughts.  
  
_I don't care how much my daughter respects you and your ties to the Orlesian court, Madame, you’re shifty. And that would-be Tamassran game of yours is irritating to those of us who have known the real thing. Bull may play along with it, but it takes more than a horned hat and an attitude to impress me, human._  
  
A ball of white flame flew toward the stands, dissipating against the wards in a shower of blinding sparks. Amber gasped in surprise, pulling Anaan's focus back to the duel.  
  
Dorian hurled a bolt of purple lightning at Meraad, but with surprising speed the Inquisitor summoned her spirit blade, executed a swift tumbling dodge, and transmuted the spell back as a wave of magical force. He nimbly dodged the impact through a series of leaping barrel rolls, ending at the far side of the ring with a dramatic flourish of his flared robe.   
  
The audience erupted in applause as Dorian paused to bow and blow kisses to the younger mages, and even Meraad paused to cheer for her friend’s graceful grandstanding. Then with a feral grin she launched herself in a golden blur through Dorian's body. Though protected from actual harm by his own barrier, the spell chilled him as she passed, and when she materialized behind him she playfully tapped his backside with the flat of her staff blade before dancing out of reach. Dorian roared with laughter, and the duel rejoined with renewed ferocity.   
  
Anaan was truly impressed by them both. Krem said this was intended to be a training match, but they held nothing back. These were more than duelists, they were artists reveling in the freedom to utilize their powers without fear, both terrifying and beautiful to behold.  
  
It was impossible to hear their words over the crowd at that distance, but by reading Dorian’s lips and gestures Anaan determined he was offering advice when needed, and praise when she adapted.   
  
With the scores tied the battle became an endurance match to be decided by whose barrier would break first. At any other time Meraad's Vashoth constitution might have been an advantage, but Anaan was well aware of his daughter’s intolerance for extreme heat. Her reactions were slowing, and a bright flush stained her silver cheeks as the tendrils of hair escaping her braids plastered down with sweat.  
  
After a final intense barrage of spells ended with their staves crossed in the middle of the ring, both mages suddenly stopped and conferred with Cassandra. The Seeker then raised her hands for silence, and announced the duelists had agreed to call the match a draw.   
  
A few spectators expressed mild disappointment at the outcome, but the majority cheered and filed out of the training room in high spirits. Dorian and Meraad embraced as friends and exited the ring arm-in-arm, where Bull awaited them both. The captain poured a tall glass of juice from the stoneware jug for each of them, and refused to allow anyone to speak to either mage until he'd personally verified they'd had a chance to drink.  
  
Meraad drained her glass and held it up for a refill as Dorian exclaimed, “By the Maker, what is this remarkable elixir?”  
  
She spared a glance around the room to verify only family and friends remained, then leaned heavily against the wall, panting as she loosened the clasps of her tunic.  
  
“One of my Aunt’s restorative tonics. A precise mix of water, lemon juice, mineral salt and sugar. Tastes like shit unless you really need it, but I figured we’d both need it today.”  
  
“Excellent forethought, thank you. You should make more of this for the Approach when the time comes.”  
  
Anaan soaked a towel in cool water and dabbed his daughter’s face and neck as she rolled her eyes. “Stop fidgeting, _Imekari,_ and let your old man fuss while I can. That was quite the show you two! Apart from being overheated, how do you feel?”  
  
“Disgustingly sweaty," she grimaced. "Not as drained as I thought I would be, which is nice, though something still feels... _off._ Hello, Amber, glad you could make it.”  
  
The smaller woman blushed at the sudden attention. “A pleasure to see you as well, Your Grace. That was amazing!”  
  
“Well, for my part, that’s a given,” Dorian said. “It’s only to be expected my companions should look good by the mere proximity to my excellence.”  
  
Meraad burst out laughing. “How do you find hats to fit that head, you glorious peacock?”  
  
“Custom made, of course! But in all seriousness, you performed well, particularly given the challenge of working with an opposing element.”  
  
Bull tucked a strand of her wayward hair behind her ear. “You said something felt off, _Kadan?_ ”  
  
“I do...like I should have been able to do more, but couldn’t quite reach it, if that makes any sense.”  
  
“Not in this context, but I’m not a mage. Finish your drink while you sort it out. You too, Vint.”  
  
Anaan studied his daughter. “Well, if this were a _physical_  ability, I'd say it sounds like you hit a plateau and need to vary your training a bit till you progress past it. But I don’t know if the same applies to magic.”  
  
“Of course!" Dorian snapped his fingers. "You _have_ plateaued with fire, at least while still in Skyhold.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Dorian, I'm exhausted. I don’t follow.”  
  
“I’ll forgive your obtuseness this once, but only because of that amusing fade step trick. Right, you know we are sensitive to our environments relative to our inherent magical affinities, yes? Your frost spells, for instance, are notably stronger here than they were in the arid Forbidden Oasis, and require less effort for you to cast. Why?”  
  
She closed her eyes as realization dawned. “I’m surrounded by a cold, wet climate, which is fine for frost but lousy for fire, like trying to build a campfire with damp, unseasoned wood. It can be done, but wastes a lot of energy in the process.”  
  
“Precisely. I believe, given your oppositional nature to fire, you may need to be in a hot, dry environment to progress beyond your present capacity with spells of that element, if it is to be done at all.”  
  
“Which means there's no point in pushing the issue until we reach the desert. Well, at least now I know it isn’t solely for lack of effort on my part. Thank you, Dorian, that actually makes me feel a lot better.”  
  
“A pleasure to be of assistance, my friend. However, like yourself, I am also in desperate need of a bath and a good meal. Let us rectify that, shall we?”  
  
Meraad collected her gear and turned to Anaan. “Care to join Bull and me for an early dinner, Papa, or have you two made other plans?”  
  
“Other plans, _Imekari_ , thanks all the same.”  
  
“Fair enough," she kissed her father on the cheek. "I want to hear about how things went with your new mount too, but that can wait. Have a lovely night.”  
  
Anaan smiled at the sight of Meraad’s head on her husband’s broad shoulder as they headed for the battlements. But it quickly faded when they parted at the outer door for Bull to take up his role of personal guard.   
  
_So many loveless couples in this sorry world making a public display of false romance, yet those two have to hide theirs from the nobles like it’s some kind of sodding crime. It’s not right._  
  
Amber squeezed his hand, “What’s on your mind, Handsome?”    
  
The healer squeaked in happy surprise as Anaan scooped her into his arms and strode down the causeway toward his quarters, nibbling on her neck to hide his expression.  
  
“You, Blossom. I'm thinking about you, and just how lucky I am.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I'm taking liberties here, not only with OCs and my interpretation of dracolisks, but with magical theory.  As I've mentioned before, I'm an old school tabletop gamer, and I like there to be a bit of method behind the madness as opposed to simply saying "magic happens". Even the fantastic needs a framework, and this just happens to be mine. Your mileage may vary.


	5. Boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with all my stories, conversational Qunlat is bracketed by " * ".

As Meraad and Bull stepped down to the garden, she couldn't help but smile at the sound of Amber's laughter ringing from the battlements above.

“*Your dad and Amber have been spending quite a bit of time together lately,*” Bull remarked. A simple statement, though his underlying question was clear: _how do you feel about that?_  
  
“*Yes, they have. And I’m honestly glad he’s found a friend to keep him company, even if only for a while. He’s been alone far too long.*"  
  
“*From Turner’s accounts, he wasn’t alone much on their trip here, and made sure the kid wasn’t either.*"  
  
“*I don’t just mean a bedmate. He’s had a few companions in the village over the years, and at least one across the border in Antiva that he visited on occasion. But most of the time he’s buried himself in his work, and on my last visit home he seemed...distant. I found him sitting down by the river near the farm, staring out at the water, lost to his memories, and I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him actually look his age.*”  
  
Bull contemplated this a moment. “*That answers a lot. He's a landlocked sailor, _Kadan._  Spent the first half of his life at sea before moving to the mountains to protect you, but you’re a grown woman now, with your own life. I think he’s finally coming to terms with the fact you don’t need him like you used to, and he’s working out where that leaves him. Look at how he fussed over you at the training ring.*"  
  
“*You don’t need to remind me that he gave up the sea for my sake. Believe me, I’ve felt guilty enough for that as it is.*”  
  
He stroked her hand as they walked, a small act of comfort that could be easily hidden from curious glances. “*That was his choice. It’s nothing you had any control over, then or now, so guilt is pointless. He’d tell you the same thing.*"  
  
“*I can’t help it, especially now that I know the full truth of why we had to leave. He’s done _so much_ for me, I just...I never want him to doubt that his sacrifice was worth it.*"  
  
“*There’s a point where you have to stop living for the approval of others, Meraad, even his. If he didn’t believe you were worth the effort, he wouldn’t be here now. Neither would I.*"  
  
“*Thank you for that.*" She sighed. "*And you're right. It just seems like most everyone we meet now are only willing to help if I do something for them first, so I guess seeking approval has just become habit.*”  
  
Meraad unbound her long braid as they stepped into the perimeter arcade, grateful for the shade, and the cool breeze heavy with the scent of impending rain.  
  
“*Back to your original question, I think this trip has done Papa a lot of good, and so has Amber.*"  
  
“*You still had Leliana look into her background, of course.*"  
  
“*I surely did. I like Amber very much, but with so much at stake I couldn’t take the risk someone would try to get to me through him.*"  
  
Bull fell into smug silence, and she rolled her eyes. “* _Okay_ , maybe she also pulled my focus because Papa was interested in her. He’s my father, Bull! I had to be sure she wasn’t too good to be true. Thankfully, she checked out just fine, and is simply a very nice lady doing excellent service here.*"  
  
He flashed a crooked grin. “*I know, _Kadan_. I had her checked a few weeks ago, just after your dad first introduced her to us. Leliana had the file ready for me, since your dad had asked for the same thing the week before I did.*"  
  
“*Are you seriou...oh.*” Meraad deflated. “*Let me guess. Standard Ben-Hassrath procedure?*”  
  
“*That, and we both knew you’d be concerned. Even so, it's good you’re not letting sentiment for your dad blind you to possible threats. Getting to you through him would be a viable tactic, and I have no doubt others have tried.*"  
  
“*Damn it, I _thought_ Leliana got those results back unusually fast,*” she sulked as the first peal of thunder rolled over the mountaintops. “*Well, _huzzah_ for me then. Nice to know I can catch up with the rest of you eventually.*”  
  
Bull pulled her into an alcove and cupped her face, compelling her to look him in the eye. “*Stop _._ Just because you weren’t the first to think of it doesn’t diminish your efforts. We’ve had decades of specialized training for this, while you’ve been at it just over a year, and you’re not accustomed to being as distrustful as we are. Your healer training requires a degree of compassion and empathy that cynical, jaded assholes like us don’t have either. We all have our strengths.*”  
  
“*Are you saying that with a bit more training I could become a cynical, jaded asshole too?*"  
  
He kissed her tenderly and rested his head against hers.“*I’d rather you surround yourself with cynical, jaded assholes like us so that you don’t have to be, _Kadan_. Cynics are a copper a dozen right now. Compassion and empathy are in short supply. Try not to be in a hurry to lose them, or yourself.*"  
  
“*I...I guess I misunderstood, then. With all the training we’ve been doing in how to mask my expressions, I assumed you’d prefer it if I were harder. Like Leliana.*"  
  
“*Well, you know what they say about assumptions,*” he brushed her unruly hair away from her face. “*I happen to love you as you are, so don’t try to be something you’re not just to please me. Save that shit for the nobles. As for Nightingale? She’s not as hard as you think.*"  
  
“*Don’t let her hear you say that.*"  
  
“*She’s hard when she _needs_ to be, but it’s not her true nature any more than it is yours. Unlike me, who’s just a heartless bastard through and through.*"  
  
“*Liar.*" She grinned.  
  
"*Hey, I have an image to maintain too, Boss.*"  
  
Meraad straightened her face, but couldn't hide the laughter in her eyes. “*Very well, Captain. Heartless bastard it is.*”  
  
She suddenly stopped when they entered the cramped vestibule between the garden and the throne room. “Wait, I can’t go in there looking like this. I'm going to use a quick spell.”  
  
Instinctively he held his hand up to avoid a possible flash of light. “*What are you going to… _.*”  
  
_ “*Done. Do I look presentable?*”  
  
He looked her over, surprised to see her loose hair neatly brushed, her armored coat cleaned, no sign of sweat on her pewter skin, and her smudged eye makeup completely removed.  
  
“*You look fine, just barefaced. What did you do?*”  
  
“*Crap, I forgot about my makeup. I used a couple of cleaning cantrips, one for myself, one for my clothes.*”  
  
At his blank stare, she explained, “*A cantrip is an apprentice-level spell, Love. Think of your first practice blade as a kid, but magic. This one cleans.*”  
  
“*There’s just a spell for everything, isn’t there?*”  
  
“*Probably,*” she laughed, gesturing to him to open the door. “*It’s only a stopgap though. I prefer a proper bath, but this lets me freshen up until I can get to one. Most of the time I use it for cleaning up blood, or getting grit out of a wound without causing more pain. But how do you think I keep my white coat clean between camps?*”  
  
“*You don’t have to sell me on it, _Kadan_. I see the utility, it’s just weird.*”  
  
The lower end of the throne room hummed with conversation from masked nobles and local officials milling near the fireplace, and the soft clink of dishware as servants set long tables for the evening meal. Bull and Meraad hugged the shadows of the far wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as they strode purposefully toward the door to the Inquisitor’s tower.  
  
“Ah, Inquisitor. There you are, my dear. A moment of your time, if you please?”  
  
“ _Vashedan,”_   Meraad whispered through a quickly-plastered smile. Vivienne stepped gracefully into the torchlight near the door to Josephine's office, accompanied by a man and woman in matching masks who waited a polite distance away. “Good evening, Madame de Fer. Is there something you need?”  
  
“I simply wished to extend my compliments on your performance today. The nobles in attendance were quite impressed.”  
  
“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say. Now if you'll...” she turned toward the door, but Vivienne linked her arm in Meraad’s and steered the Inquisitor toward the waiting couple, cutting off all hope of escape.   
  
“Of course, the poor dears know little of the ways of magic, so their standards are not terribly high. It was an entertaining display nonetheless.” She beckoned the masked couple forward. “I should like to introduce you to Lord and Lady Auray of Val Chevin. They....”  
  
Meraad gasped in happy surprise as she recognized their livery in the torchlight. “Lord Etienne, Lady Ophelia, I’m thrilled you could finally join us at Skyhold! I’ve heard so many good things about you. Of course you remember Captain The Iron Bull?”  
  
Vivienne’s smile turned brittle. “Why Etienne, darling, you didn’t tell me you were acquainted.”  
  
“With respect, Vivienne _darling,_ ” Lord Auray smirked beneath his elaborate half-mask. “We were afforded little chance to do so. The Bull’s Chargers proved of great service in ridding Val Chevin of a nest of Tevinter spies, and we hosted the Captain and his men for a time at our estate. It was he who invited us to Skyhold that we may meet the Inquisitor and personally offer our support. A great pleasure to see you again, Captain.”  
  
“The pleasure is mine, my Lord.” Bull replied, his eye twinkling with mischief as he elegantly kissed the blushing Lady Auray’s hand. “And may I say, Lady Ophelia, you’re looking lovely as always.”  
  
“How amusingly awkward," Vivienne declared. "Then I shan't keep you from this serendipitous reunion. Do enjoy yourselves.”  
  
Meraad flinched as the first enchanter accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant and moved on to mingle among other guests.  
  
_Great. I didn't wait for the full introduction, and now Vivienne's offended and going to make me pay for it later in training.  
  
_ With a vow to make amends later, Meraad focused on her guests, and was pleasantly surprised to find that Bull's reports of Lord and Lady Auray's kindness when he and the Chargers needed refuge hadn't been exaggerated. She became so engrossed in Lord Etienne's charming anecdotes that she nearly missed the distinctive shift in the local Fade marking the use of magic close by.  
  
Magic directed at her.  
  
It started with a tingling itch at the crown of her head, a tentative test of her passive defenses by a mage of great power and subtlety, and when she recognized the spell's purpose, only Bull’s training allowed her to maintain her composure.  
  
_A Healer’s scan...?! WHO…?!  
  
_ Arcane tendrils slowly crept down the back of her neck to her shoulders, gossamer as a spider’s web, yet to Meraad it felt as if a thousand nails raked her skin, laying her bare.  
  
_No no no not you...stop...STOP...this isn't right! You could have just ASKED ME, Vivienne!  
_  
Her stomach churned with incredulous fury when she spotted the enchanter in the peripheral shadows near a table laden with food, pretending to sip wine to cover the spell. Bull told a joke that greatly amused the Aurays, but as the scan slowly descended, Meraad's growing panic left her unable to hear him.   
  
_I have to break her focus, but I can’t fight her here! There's too many innocents nearby and she’s stronger with combat magic. Yet if I raise a barrier, she’ll know I caught her and it’s her word against mine. THINK!  
  
_ And then she saw it. With a flick of her wrist Meraad used a cantrip to pull the anchor pins from the buffet table’s front legs, sending it and all its contents crashing toward Vivienne. The first enchanter's focus remained on what she believed to be her undetected spell, so the mage was slow to react when Meraad cried, “LOOK OUT!” and shoved her backward into a column with more force than was necessary.   
  
A heavy stoneware tureen collided with Meraad’s left knee, followed hard upon by the leading edge of the oak table against her ankle. Thick stew splashed down the side of her white leather coat, and Bull caught her before she could fall in the slippery mess. One of the tower guards assisted Vivienne to her feet, but the woman waved him off and indignantly straightened her robe.   
  
“My thanks for your rather _brusque_ intervention, my dear. But just look at the state of your coat! This will never do.”  
  
Meraad stared at her clothing, carefully schooling her expression even as her heart threatened to hammer out of her chest. With what she hoped sounded like a long-suffering sigh she said, “it never fails. Anytime I wear white, the dirt always seems to find me.”   
  
Polite laughter rolled through the crowd, and she turned to the Aurays. “Please forgive me, my Lord and Lady, but I must take my leave for now. Good night.”  
  
“Shall I attend you, Inquisitor?” Madame de Fer loudly inquired, projecting matronly concern to those still watching. “I realize you now have that vulgar mechanical contrivance to carry you to your chambers, but I do regret that you were injured on my account.”  
  
“That won't be necessary, Madame," The Inquisitor stiffly replied. "In case you’ve forgotten, _I’m a Healer too.”_  
  
Suspicion flashed in Vivienne's eyes, but she said nothing further as Meraad and Bull passed the guard checkpoint and entered the tower.


	6. Breach of Trust

  
  
Bull wasn’t fooled by Meraad’s stoic demeanor when they crossed the tower threshold.   
  
_What did I miss?? This is way more than a fallen table, she wanted to embed Vivienne in the wall. I haven't seen her this shaken since Red confessed the Council knew Anaan had gone missing from the Outpost. Which means there's no point asking what’s wrong until she feels safe enough to regroup.  
  
_ “*Want some help into the lift?*” He asked quietly in Qunlat.  
  
Without hesitation she wound her arm over his broad shoulders and leaned against him.  
  
_Ready to bolt like the enemy’s on her heels. Shit.  
  
_ The massive metal frame of a dwarven single-drum hoist now dominated the center of the tower from floor to ceiling, containing a reinforced cage lift 10-foot wide on each side so the Qunari wouldn’t feel confined. Bull was grateful to finally have it completed, not only for sake of her leg, but because his gut warned he'd need to conserve his own strength tonight.  
  
Guardsman Guillaume stood to attention at the liftgate as the couple approached, which was another blessing. The man had served in the tower long enough to know the truth about Bull and Meraad’s relationship, and could be counted on to be discreet. Bull hoped seeing Guillaume might help her relax a bit, but Meraad barely acknowledged the man as she limped to the liftgate on the opposite side, set her back against the metal frame, and glared at the main tower door.  
  
“Just take us up, Guillaume, please,” Bull said kindly, cutting off the surprised guard’s inquiries. “Boss needs quiet.”  
  
“Understood, Ser.”  
  
The instant the lift moved, Meraad snatched the guard's roster of approved tower visitors from its hook, aggressively crossed out a name, then returned it without a word.  
  
_Vivienne. Well, there’s one suspicion confirmed.  
  
_ Bull pulled her into his embrace and whispered against her hair, “*Hang on, _Kadan,_ we’re almost home.*”  
  
A choking sob escaped her at the word “home”. She buried her face in his neck and pulled her arms in tight against his chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her pulse raced at her throat, and the more she trembled, the more Bull’s anger at Madame de Fer grew.  
  
_I don’t know what you just did to my wife, human, but if I have any say in it, it’s never going to happen again.  
  
_ “*Hey, easy. I’m with you. You’re safe.*”  
  
Hot tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she whispered back, “*I’m _not_ safe, Bull. Even you can’t…*” she pressed her lips together, refusing to finish the sentence, and when the lift passed the third floor, she fixated on the door to their chambers, her toes tapping in irritation they weren't moving faster.  
  
“I beg your pardon Your Grace, Captain, but will you be returning to the hall for dinner? If so, I can wait at the top.”  
  
Meraad's eyes dilated in fear, wordlessly pleading with Bull not to make her go back. _  
  
_ “No,” the Captain replied, staring pointedly back at her. “The Inquisitor’s off duty. Please have a runner send up food for both of us. Simple fare, nothing heavy, no alcohol. Tell them to leave it by the door.”  
  
“Very good, Ser. Lysette and I will be on patrol tonight, so if either of you require anything further, let us know.”   
  
_Good. Lysette’s a templar who keeps her head in a crisis, and she owes Meraad her life for saving her at Haven. I can count on her not to swing first if things get ugly.  
  
_ When the lift reached the top floor, Meraad muttered thanks to Guillaume and pushed away to open the liftgate, intending to race for quarters as fast as her injured leg would allow. But Bull picked her up and carried her the rest of the way before she could think to protest.  
  
He bolted the door and settled her by the hearth long enough to secure all the windows and curtains, and by the time he returned, she’d cleaned and stripped off her outer coat, and was struggling to open her belt pouch with shaking hands.   
  
Bull calmly opened the clasp. “Talk to me, _Kadan_. Tell me what you need.”  
  
For an instant she stared at him in confusion, which turned into sullen fury as she retrieved a healing potion from the pouch. She cracked the seal, downed it in one swallow, and scowled at the unlit logs.   
  
“What I _need,_ is to beat the living shit out of an unethical, judgmental harpy.” A wave of dry heat blasted them both as the wood burst into flame. “Thought she was so fucking clever, and I was too stupid to notice the spell. Manipulative  _BITCH.”_  
  
Bull winced as another gout of flame flared, high enough to send sparks shooting from the chimney. In a dangerously calm voice he warned, “Meraad, I get you’re upset, and I’m willing to listen, but you need to take a breath and lock that shit down. Now.”  
  
_“NO!”_ She screamed as she defiantly stood to face him, her backlit hair swirling like a molten halo. “I’m _through_ with being told what to do, how to behave, how to speak, and even to FUCKING BREATHE. Enough of these stupid  _Games!”_  
  
With terrifying speed, The Iron Bull rose and pinned her against his chest with one powerful arm. His free hand gripped the back of her hair, forcing her to look him in the eye.  
  
“This _isn’t_ a game,” he growled. “And we established rules because that's what you need.”  
  
“Let me GO, Bull. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
He quickly tightened his grip hard enough to knock the wind out of her before relaxing again.  
  
“You _won’t_ hurt me, because I’m not the one you’re mad at. I love you, and I’m trying to help you. So you either rein your magic in, right now, or you can explain to Lysette why the Inquisitor couldn’t control herself, and prove Vivienne’s claims that apostates can’t be trusted.”  
  
She froze.  
  
_Yeah, thought that might reach you. Come back to me, Kadan. Don't let her win. You’re stronger than this.  
  
_ The logs snuffed out, leaving only an angry glow of cherry embers, and Bull cautiously relaxed his hold from confining to supportive as he waited for her to make the next move.  
  
Suddenly she gasped, “ _Ka...KATOH_ , Love, please! I’m...I have to...”  
  
Bull instantly complied to the sound of her watchword and she raced for the bathroom. He followed close behind, and found her hunched over her small soak tub, watching a torrent of cold water pour from a sluice pipe in the wall. Her skin was clammy with sweat and her teeth chattered as she clutched the rim of the cast iron tub for balance. Thinking she was going to be sick, Bull reached out to help, but she furiously waved him off.   
  
When the tub filled halfway, she slammed the spigot closed, plunged both hands into the water up to her elbows, and for long moments the only sound to break the oppressive silence was her harsh breathing. Then a golden radiance filled the tub, bright enough to illuminate the room, and tiny bubbles simmered from below as a thin layer of steam misted across the water’s surface.  
_  
_ The light dimmed as the last of her mana drained, and Bull caught her before she could fall, easing her to sit on the bath stool beside the tub.  
  
“That was good thinking, shunting off the power like that. I’m proud of you.”  
  
Meraad’s voice was heavy with shame and fatigue as she panted, “Don’t be, I should have just dispelled it. Instead I panicked and drew it back to me when I was too tired to hold it. Stupid apprentice mistake could have killed us both. I was an idiot.”  
  
“I won't argue that," he said, kneeling in front of her to meet her gaze. "And I expect you to remember this the next time your emotions start taking over. I trained you better than this. All the same, good work cleaning up your mess without either of us getting hurt.”   
  
He retrieved a lyrium potion from her belt pouch and offered it to her, but she hesitated.   
  
“ _Kadan,_  you’ve drained yourself twice in as many hours. I’m not angry with you, but I will be if you deliberately punish yourself with a migraine now. Take the potion.”  
  
With the tub too hot yet for soaking, Bull waited long enough to see her drink before helping her out of her remaining armor and clothes. Then he picked up a sea sponge and a basin of fresh water, and calmly began to scrub her down.  
  
“Okay. When you’re ready, tell me what really happened.”  
  
“Viv-Vivienne..." Meraad shivered, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "She... _scanned_ me, Bull. She scanned me, and I couldn’t stop her!”  
  
“Like that Healer’s spell you did for Beatrice?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And that’s...a bad thing?”  
  
“It is when you do it without consent! Something any _‘proper Circle-trained Healer_ ’ knows. Do you know that hypocrite even wrote a book on magical ethics?! Commander Helaine made me read it as part of my Knight-Enchanter certification.”  
  
Suddenly the color drained from her face and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh gods...it was all a setup! The Aurays, Vivienne storming off...just a distraction for her to strike when I was too drained from the duel to resist. She hid in the crowd, assuming I’d never notice, and used my fear of hurting an innocent as insurance of good behavior in case I did! I _trusted_ her...”  
  
“Easy,” he soothed, tilting her head back to pour water over her hair. “Are you absolutely sure it was her? There were a lot of people there tonight.”  
  
“YES. I told you that every mage has their own magical signature, and I’ve worked with Vivienne for nearly two years. We’ve tandem healed. I am as familiar with her power as she is with mine, which is why my magical defenses didn’t recognize her as a threat. She exploited that!”  
  
“Assuming all that’s true, why would she even bother?”  
  
“Why do you _think?_ You heard what Josephine said, Madame believes you’re a ‘dangerous distraction’ to me. She wanted to confirm I didn’t have any _other_ distractions because of you.”  
  
Bull’s fingers reflexively tightened as he scrubbed her hair, and Meraad snapped, “Exactly. NOW do you see why I’m angry?”  
  
_I was wondering how long it would take for the witch to see me as a legitimate threat to her influence on the Inquisitor. Casual sex is one thing, but marriage changes the boundaries. Now I have a better idea of the lengths Viv will go to secure her position, but_ _I had no idea she could cast without putting on a show. **That’s** what Meraad stopped herself from saying in the lift...that I couldn’t protect her against Vivienne’s magic.  
  
_ “So,” he cleared his throat, using the act of rinsing her off to help keep his own composure. “The falling table was your doing?”  
  
“Yeah. I had to find a way to break her focus without hurting anyone... _how can you be so fucking calm?!”_  
  
“Because right now one of us has to be. I’m sorry, _Kadan._ I didn’t see anything out of line except you being unusually nervous before the table fell, and shoving Vivienne into the wall.”  
  
“Are...are you saying you don’t believe me? Are you actually taking her side?!”  
  
“That’s not what I said…”  
  
Meraad jerked away and put the tub between them, shaking her head in disbelief. “All this time...all the ‘yes Ma’am, no Ma’am, let me fetch that for you, Ma’am’...please tell me you don’t really believe she’s some kind of Tamassran?!”  
  
The accusation struck him like a hammer blow to the gut.   
  
_Vivienne, beyond all else, you are going to pay the most for ever giving my wife a reason to look at me like that.  
  
_ “No, no, _NO..."_ she cried, misunderstanding his silence. " _YOU_ invited the Aurays! Did Vivienne order you to keep me busy, Bull?!”  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake, _KATOH!”_   The bellowed command echoed from the tiled walls as he threw the empty basin on the counter. “Look, I get you’re stressed, but my patience is _not_ infinite, Meraad. So before you say anything else you may regret, get in that tub and clear your head. I’m going to bring in dinner. When I return, you will eat, and you will listen. Do you understand?”  
  
Too shocked to respond, she slowly climbed into the cramped, human-sized tub and pulled her knees to her chest. Her hair fell about her like a cloak as she tucked in her arms and buried her face in her hands, and Bull cursed his own loss of control.  
  
_Asshole, of **course** she doesn’t understand! She was just magically molested in public by one of her own advisers and doesn’t know who or what to trust right now. Step away and pull your own shit together, then help her focus past this.  
  
_ Bull stomped to the hall and gathered the provision basket, taking a moment to wave in assurance to the patrolling Lysette that everything was under control before bolting the door again. When he returned to the bathroom, he quietly set the basket on the counter and took his time assembling a plate of fresh bread and soft cheese while he considered how to handle the situation, then pulled the bath stool to the side of the tub and sat with the platter on the edge for them to share.  
  
“I apologize for shouting," he said. "I was pissed off you'd ever think I'd help Vivienne harm you. But, I can see how you came to that conclusion, so I’m willing to let that go, this time. Eat.”  
  
“I don’t want…”  
  
“I didn’t ask what you want, nor did I give you permission to speak. You need to eat, and you need to hear me out. Of course I know Vivienne isn’t a Tamassran, not even close. Shit, a real Tama would eat her alive. But it suits our purposes right now for her to believe she’s in control. Take another bite.”  
  
Meraad stared at the water as she silently chewed, and Bull doubted she even tasted the food. “Whether we like it or not, Vivienne is still a useful ally, at least for now. Beyond her connections, she’s a good measure of how the higher ranked members of the Court are going to respond to you. You’ve been doing great dealing with the lesser courtiers, but I knew you weren’t ready to handle her on your own yet, so she needed to be kept distracted while you learned. That was going well until that ball invitation arrived and pulled her attention from me back to you. I can’t be everywhere.”  
  
A horrified awareness slowly dawned in her red-rimmed eyes, and Bull nodded as he gently brushed her wet hair back from her face.  
  
“Yeah. Seeing the bigger picture, aren’t you? I have always been, and will always be, on your side, _Kadan_. You have _every_ right to be angry about what she did. I am too. But if you can view this tactically, you’ll also see she badly overplayed her hand tonight.”  
  
He poured a mug of herbal tea from a carafe in the basket and passed it to her. “Not sure which one this is, but I smell willow bark in it. Drink that first, then you’re free to respond.”  
  
Meraad's brow furrowed in concentration as she drank, considering his words while he patiently waited. Then she returned the empty mug and rested against the raised tub back, rubbing her temples.  
  
“You told me once, ‘when it’s an enemy, give them what they want.’”  
  
“I did. And what does Vivienne want?”  
  
“Control. No, that’s too broad. Mages aren’t supposed to have real political power, so she doesn’t want to visibly be in charge. She wants to tug the leash of the ones that are, with everyone beholden to her.”  
  
“Good. And why does she want that?” He grinned, “apart from ‘just to be a bitch’.”  
  
That earned a tired chuckle. “Let’s see...from my reports, she wasn’t born noble, she's a Marcher from a merchant family like me, but dismisses that for being ‘of the Circle’. Prodigy student who clawed her way up through the ranks to become First Enchanter in Montsimmard at a young age. Enjoys being a big fish in a little pond.  She was also genuinely alarmed when I told her I didn’t agree with restoring the circles as they were, and has been trying to convince me to change my mind about it ever since.”  
  
Bull used his spare cup to slowly cascade water across her chest and shoulders as Meraad sighed with pleasure at the relaxing sensation. “So tell me why you think a mage of her rank would be so fiercely loyal to the circle and its regulations, when others are fighting so hard to be free of it?”  
  
“Not out of fear of the outside world," she replied. "Vivienne's brazen in combat. She wants people to know who and what she is, and secured both a cushy position at court and the protection of a wealthy patron even before she joined us. Josephine told me her becoming Duke Bastien’s mistress caused such a scandal that a team of bards were sent out to make an example of her. Madame sent half of them back as frozen corpses, and hired the rest to work for her. That's part of why I wasn’t stupid enough to engage her in the throne room, I’m not sure I could take her in direct combat yet.”  
  
“Stay focused, _Kadan.”  
  
_ “Right. It’s my understanding that even though she’s been made the default leader of the Loyalist mages, she hadn’t actually attached herself to any of their enchanter colleges before then. So no matter what crap she spouts about ‘preserving the greater good’ against the rebel mages, she serves herself first. But there is still real fear in her about it, I sense it in her whenever the subject of the circles comes up.”  
  
“Sense? You didn’t tell me you were using that Empathy thing to read the courtiers.”  
  
“Not intentionally. It's a part of me I can’t shut off, only dampen, because it's tied to my Healing gift. But just because I can sense someone’s fear, it doesn’t tell me _why_ they’re afraid, and I’m not infallible on interpreting it."  
  
"Can all Healers do that?"  
  
"You mean can Vivienne? No. Whether that's because she's stronger in combat magics than healing, or because she has the compassion of a brick, I don't know, but she isn't an Empath in this way, and I certainly haven't told her I am. And before you ask, no, I can't manipulate the emotions of others. I don't read minds, either, nor would I ever want to. Reading emotions is bad enough, especially in crowds. It makes me use more energy to shield myself, or risk being overwhelmed by strong emotions that aren’t even mine, and some days it’s tougher than others to separate which is which. Took me years to find out I wasn’t just being moody for no reason.”  
  
_Shit, no wonder she’s struggling. All this time I thought it was a controlled spell. We'll have to adjust her training to compensate for that._ _Solas helped her with her crazy dreams, maybe he'll know something about how to help her shield herself better. Anaan might have some insight as well, given that his sister is an Empath too.  
  
_ “So, is that Empathy how you recognized Vivienne’s spell tonight?”  
  
“Yes. Even with my familiarity with her magic, she can be frighteningly subtle when she wants to be. And I've been scanned before, but this was...different. Like beetles clawing through my flesh..."   
  
Her voice broke as her hands fluttered over her skin, and she stared at her marked hand in disgust.  "As if this fucking Anchor doesn’t demand enough of me, am I to be allowed no privacy in _anything,_  even my own body!? Or does not being human mean I have no rights? I didn’t just feel her magic, Bull, I felt her  _contempt,_ as strong as if she’d physically attacked me. She _hates_ me!”  
  
Bull caught her hands and kissed them, mentally willing her to draw strength from him if he could. “She doesn’t hate you, sweetheart, she hates what you represent. You’re an apostate who still found training outside her accepted parameters. You specialized in a field she rose to rank in, though for entirely different reasons, and you were personally invited to Court by the Grand Duke when she's fought for years to gain their notice. By her standards, you're a rival with influence you don’t deserve or know how to properly utilize. The only way her attitude will change is if you can outplay her in the Game.”  
  
“ _Vashedan._ So, I'm dealing with an ambitious social climber who's terrified of irrelevance. Since she can't eliminate me, she has to make herself indispensable to secure her position no matter who comes out on top in Orlais. And if I succeed at Court, she'll take credit for teaching me.”  
  
"There you go.”  
  
“And if I fail…” Meraad’s words trailed off as she shifted uncomfortably. “You know, I’ll be so glad when they finally get a proper tub installed in here so I can stretch out. Mason Gatsi said the stone shipment they’re waiting for was delayed in the Dales because of the fighting.” She laughed with false cheer. "There's good motivation! Save the throne, I can sort out the sodding supply line and get a better bathtub.”  
  
Bull smirked as he retrieved a pair of thick towels and her robe, allowing her the evasive change of subject for now. “Then it sounds like a good time to get you out of here. Come on, _Kadan._ You can finish eating, and I’ll give you a rub down. I expect you’re still sore after the duel.”  
  
An awkward silence fell as she rose and dried off, unable to meet his gaze, and he opened his arms to her in silent invitation. To his relief, she launched into his embrace and clasped him tight.  
  
“I am so sorry, _Kadan._  I can't believe I was ready to accuse _my own husband_ of collusion with an enemy based on circumstantial evidence. And please don’t say, ‘it’s okay’ because it isn’t.”  
  
“Fine, it isn’t,” he sighed, kissing her head. “But I already said I let that go. You do the same.”  
  
“How am I going to survive the palace, Bull?! I’m trying so hard to learn their Game, but I’m just not fast enough.”  
  
“You _will_ survive, and you will win, because you have a secret weapon.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to bed.  
  
“Me.”

 

* * *

 

Madame de Fer woke the next morning to find a wrapped parcel on the end of her bed, containing a signed copy of her own book, _" Ethics and the Arcane"_, and a letter bearing Meraad’s personal seal:   
 

> **_Perhaps it’s simply another of my quaint peasant customs, but where I come from we seek CONSENT before scanning someone, Madame.  Enclosed is a useful, if somewhat dry, treatise that may benefit you well in future._ _  
> _ _  
> _ ** _**And to assuage any further ‘distracting’ concerns, the answer is no.**  
>  _
> 
>  

Glued to the bottom of the letter was a piece of dried witherstalk.  
  
Vivienne laughed in surprise at the Inquisitor's elegant rebuke.  “Oh, well played, my dear. Perhaps I may have use for you yet.”

 

 


	7. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoisting a minor NSFW flag. Ye be warned. :)

Anaan relished the sound of the summer rain pelting down upon the Skyhold garden below his balcony. The threatening storm had broken overnight, delaying departure to the west one more day.  
  
One last day to say goodbye.  
  
He nuzzled Amber’s head as she lay peacefully sprawled across his chest, and watched the play of candlelight on her tousled curls.  
  
_Damn this feels good. Hissera’s right, I should have found another wife. Even if I can’t father more kids, at least I’d have had someone to come home to at the end of day._  
  
“You’re brooding, Anaan...” Amber mumbled sleepily. “Stop it. This isn’t broody time.”  
  
Anaan chuckled. “Didn't mean to wake you, Blossom. Just musing to m’self and listening to the rain. Go back to sleep.”  
  
She rubbed her face against his chest then squinted at him, “You’re usually a much better liar than that, Ser. What’s on your mind?”  
  
“The truth? I was just wondering if you might consider journeying up to the Marches in the near future.”  
  
Amber sat up, now wide awake. “Are you...are you asking me to come home with you?”  
  
“I might be at that. The village isn’t much compared to the city, but there’s a good life to be had for those not afeared of hard work. A woman of your skills would certainly be welcome.”  
  
“And you don’t think anyone would have an issue with my being human in a Tal-Vashoth village?”

“It’s not all Tal-Vashoth living there,” he laughed. “There’s all manner of folk from many different races and walks of life. We’re not _that_ isolated.”  
  
She clasped his horns and kissed him tenderly. “I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me that you even asked me.”  
  
“I’m hearing a ‘but.’”  
  
“But. My home and duty are here, Anaan. None of us know what’s going to happen in this war, and I have family in Ferelden that needs me as much as yours needs you. Besides…” she brushed her fingers through his trimmed silver beard. “Your heart isn’t truly free, is it?”  
  
He stiffened. “How do you mean?”  
  
“You are an amazing man, Anaan Adaar, and I treasure the way you always make me feel special when I'm with you. But we both know deep down you’re still bound to your late wife. I’ve seen the light in your eyes when you spoke of your life together, and the little things that remind you of her. But I'm not resentful. It actually says a lot about you that you’ve remained devoted to her memory for so long. And since we're being truthful, I still miss my husband too. His death by that rift demon was why I volunteered to join the Inquisition in the first place, to help the people that could stop those monsters so no one else would have to lose loved ones to them.”  
  
Amber took his giant hand in hers and held it to her heart. “I feel no guilt whatsoever in giving or seeking comfort in each other while we can. But the kind of commitment you’re suggesting could make for a crowded house, between us, and the memories neither of us are ready to let go.”  
  
Anaan desperately wanted to deny her observation, but the more his mind raced for the right words to convince her, the less he was able to convince himself. She smiled sadly.  
  
“The fact I’ve left your silver tongue speechless tells me all I need to know.”  
  
“I’m...I'm so sorry, Amber,” he said huskily, cupping her cheek with his free hand. “I do care about you, and I greatly enjoy your company. There was just so much left unresolved between her and I that…”

“ _Shhhh._ You don’t have to explain anything, and I’m the last person to tell you how to grieve.”  
  
She straddled his thighs and pressed her body to his, purring as he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. “So, let me make you an offer, Handsome. Write to me when you can during your travels. I won’t ask you to stay celibate any more than you should ask it of me, because the simple fact is life is just too damned short. And when all this mess is over, if we’re both still free to choose, I’ll make that journey north and we’ll see what happens. Fair enough?”  
  
“Fair enough,” he smiled. “I appreciate your understanding. At my age it’s also nice to have something to look forward to.”  
  
Her strong, work callused hand slipped between their bodies, deftly stroking him until he hissed through his teeth with pleasure. “Don’t you give me that ‘at my age’ shite, Anaan Adaar. There’s still plenty of life in you yet.”  
  
With a lascivious growl he reversed their positions, lavishing her throat with nipping kisses as he settled into the cradle of her thighs. “Why, Blossom, I do believe you’re right! Since you were so kind as to enlighten me, how about we see just how much of my life is in you, hmm?”  
  
Her raucous cheer of assent drowned out the thunder.

* * *

  
  
They rose before dawn, grinning and shamelessly sleep-deprived. Amber was needed at the stables to help with the departure of the Inquisitor’s team and the train of nobles to Halamshiral, so after a final, lingering kiss and a wish for safe travels, she slipped into the corridor and out of sight.  
  
Anaan silently dressed and made one last pass around the room to be sure nothing was left behind, when he found Amber’s favorite hair scarf folded neatly on top of his pack. He held it to his face and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her strong soap and honest sweat mixed with horse and sun-dried linen. He reverently tucked it into his belt pouch, gathered his packs, and with a light step and grateful heart he headed down to the tavern to pick up his breakfast.  
  
Meraad had invited him to a send-off feast that morning, some frivolous affair Josephine designed to convince the nobles that they were riding off to a grand adventure with the Inquisitor. But he was in too good of spirits to deal with that kind of pretension.  
  
_Besides, Meraad doesn’t need more nobles coming to you with their grievances after she’d told them no. She’s got enough people trying to undermine her authority deliberately._  
  
By the end of his first week in Skyhold, the old rogue had memorized every major and hidden pathway around the keep, shadowing the servants and testing the fortress’s security. He put that knowledge to good use today, reaching the door of the Herald’s Rest in under five minutes without attracting the notice of guards or runners.   
  
A flood of heat and noise and light met him when he crossed the threshold. The first floor was packed with morning work crews, soldiers, and mercenaries either waiting to get food, or hurriedly eating at one of the nearby tables before they reported for duty. Lesser nobles and their entourages sneered down from the upper balconies, contenting themselves in the knowledge that even if they weren't important enough to have been invited to the main hall, at least they didn’t have to sit with the rabble.  
  
He easily cut through the crowd toward the bar and waved to the beleaguered barkeep, “A fine good morning, Cabot.”  
  
“Says you,” the dwarf smirked as he signaled to his wife Yvette to take over the order line. “The only good will come when this lot finally clears out.”  Cabot stepped into the kitchen and returned with a warm bundle of food and a sealed stoneware carafe of coffee. “At least you had the sense to order ahead. And yes, your breakfast order for Amber was sent to the stable. Yvette delivered it herself, and also insisted I tell you she's added some strawberry hand pies in your bundle since you liked them so much.”  
  
Anaan turned to thank the lady himself, when the lantern light in the far corner was blocked by the hulking form of The Iron Bull. The elder Adaar waved to his son-in-law in greeting, but was met with only a grim nod and half-hearted salute before Bull gave instructions to Krem and stalked outside.  
  
Cabot disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve more bundles of food, and stacked them on the end of the bar just as Krem, Rocky and Dalish arrived to pick them up.  
  
“Thanks, Cabot,” Krem said, passing a small bag of coin to the barkeep. “G'morning, Anaan.”  
  
“Good morning to you, Krem. Bit surprised to see your Chief here instead of up at the keep for the Inquisitor's send off.”  
  
The lieutenant winced and glanced back to the now empty corner. “ _Yeaaah,_ slight change of plans. Sorry, I can’t really talk right now. See you at the gate.”  
  
The moment the Chargers departed, Cabot muttered, “poor kid. Wouldn’t want to be in his boots right now.”  
  
“Why? What have you heard?”  
  
“You don’t already know? Sod it, I didn't think I'd be the one to tell you. Rumor has it Bull got on the Inquisitor’s bad side night before last. Guards in the courtyard heard raised voices, and saw flames shooting out her chimney. No one made out clearly what was said, and the tower guards don’t get paid to talk. All I know for sure is Bull stayed in his old room upstairs last night.”  
  
“Alone?”  
  
“Yeah, though he got invites from a couple of camp followers that didn’t know better. He brushed them off, ordered food for his team and a bottle of the hard stuff for himself, then bolted into his room for the night. This is the first I've seen of him since then.”  
  
Anaan closed his eyes and sighed. _Stay out of it Adaar. It’s their marriage, couples fight. Let them sort it out._  
  
“You gonna say something to him?" Cabot asked tentatively.   
  
“Nope. They’re grown adults, and I don’t have all the facts yet. I appreciate the heads up though.” He shouldered his pack, gathered up his breakfast, then set a gold sovereign on the bar. “Here’s a little something extra for all your trouble. I’ll likely be heading back north after this mission, so my best wishes to you and your good lady.”  
  
“You know, I don’t often say this, but I’m actually sorry to hear that. You’re one of the few tall folk I can actually tolerate. Fair winds and calm seas, Master Adaar.”  
  
The two men shook hands in fond farewell, and Anaan blew a winking kiss to Yvette as he stepped through the crowd and out the door.  


* * *

  
  
Meraad was in a foul mood by the time her team and the long train of carriages, troops and supply wagons finally departed Skyhold two hours later, but to her credit she hid it well. Anaan watched with pride as the Inquisitor coordinated with her council and team leaders over last minute details, despite constant interruptions from nobles sniping over everything from their placement in the train, to those demanding personal blessings from the Herald of Andraste.  
  
Through it all, Bull maintained a respectful distance, close enough to defend, but far enough to be professionally courteous. Neither of them spoke to the other on the long ride to the Pilgrim’s Path outpost, and although it pained Anaan to witness, he knew better than to entertain the negative scenarios that could have led to this separation. He loved them both, and assumptions only caused more problems. If they wanted him to know, they’d tell him.  
  
Instead, he turned in his saddle after crossing the causeway to spare one last look at Skyhold, gleaming defiantly in the morning sun, and wondered if he’d live to see it again. He sincerely hoped so.  
  
The Inquisitor's vanguard reached Pilgrim’s Path outpost late that night, slowed by pace of the wagons on the mountain roads and the whining of lesser nobles seeking to impress those of greater station. The Inquisitor and her inner circle quartered at Captain Calder’s house, while Anaan, the minor officers, and scouts bunked in the Inquisition’s barracks. The nobles were left to scramble for rooms at the outpost’s newly constructed inn, with overflow relegated to pavilions on the market green.  
  
As he entered his room, wondering who he’d been assigned to bunk with, a whoop of delight was his only warning before Scout Eton Turner launched himself from the opposite bed and embraced Anaan in a hearty hug.  
  
“Well, I’ll be damned! It’s good to see you, boy! I was hoping we might cross paths on this trek.”  
  
“Great to see you too, Anaan! Soon as I heard the Inquisitor’s party would be stopping here for the night I sent a raven ahead to request quarters with you, figuring you’d be bunking with the scouts. I pushed my mount to get here in time. Got in about an hour ago. I’ve already spoken with Lady Meraad, but I’ve got letters for you from the family too.”  
  
“Hmm. In that time frame, either Nightingale’s gotten faster with translating Qunlat, or they wrote in Trade tongue.”  
  
Turner laughed and retrieved the packet of parchment from his bag. “Master Taar said they were in Trade just to save her some time, ‘though still coded so she wouldn’t get bored.’ Both he and Hissera were doing well when I saw them three weeks ago, and send you their love. Also said to tell you your apprentice has settled in just fine and is doing good work.”  
  
Anaan dearly wanted to read the letters but courtesy mattered, particularly given the effort the scout had given to reach him. “That’s all-around the best news I’ve heard all day. Come on then, grab your kit and let’s head to the baths. We’ll clean up and you can catch me up on news. Dinner’s on me.”  
  
“Fine, but the first round of drinks is on me.”  The scout's smile faded as he hesitated over his next question, and Anaan had a sinking feeling of what he was about to ask when Turner glanced into the hallway and quietly closed the door.  
  
"Anaan, I ran into Captain Bull in the hall, on his way back from the bathhouse.”

“Something unusual about that?”  
  
“I'm not sure. We exchanged polite greetings, but something about him seemed...off.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I said I was surprised to see him here instead of up at the Captain’s House, and that the Lady had asked me to find out if he needed anything. For a moment he looked about to comment, but then he stared past me down the hall like I wasn't even there, said ‘nope’, then ducked into one of the officer’s rooms. Did I do something wrong, or there trouble between him and the Lady? I'm only asking because I’d just told Taar and Hissera they were happy, and I’d really hate to be proved a liar.”  
  
The old smith sighed tiredly, “Honestly, Eton, I wish I knew. This is a recent development, and even Varric and Dorian didn’t know when I asked them this morning. So far the only ones that seem to have any clue either can’t or won’t talk to me. I hope it’s just a minor spat, or this is going to be a long ride west.”  
  
He picked out a change of clothes and stepped to the door. “But there's nothing more we can do about it tonight. Let’s get ourselves clean and fed, and you can tell me about your new girl.”  
  
Eton startled. “Wha...how did you…?”  
  
Anaan’s face split into a broad, conspiratorial grin. “You cut your precious hair, shaved off that scruff you called a beard, and stopped biting your nails, which are currently clean and trimmed. Best reason you’d have to put in that much effort is if you had someone worth cleaning up for. It wouldn’t happen to be a pretty young innkeeper’s daughter in Jader, would it?”  
  
“Okay, now how did you figure THAT?”  
  
“Simple. You'd said you pushed hard to get here, and judging by the amount of stubble you’ve grown back since you last shaved, I’d say they were within at least a three day ride. The nearest inns worth a damn within that distance at a solo courier's speed are here, Rainesfere and Jader, and I recall from our trip down here that old Bertram Belhoste in Jader had a pretty daughter around your age. Oh, what was her name...Cassie? Connie?”  
  
“Connie…” Turner sulked. “Short for Constance, and you’re right on all counts.”  
  
“It’s been known to happen. Now don’t forget to take off that frilly pendant she gave you so you don’t you lose it in the bath, and put that perfume-soaked love letter on the bed away before I choke on the scent, please.”  
  
Turner shook his head and laughed, “I forgot how much of a smug jackass you can be when you're right. I’ve really missed you, old man.”  
  
Anaan ruffled the scout’s short hair affectionately. “I’ve missed you too, brat. Now let’s get moving. I’m hungry!”


	8. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hoisting a minor NSFW flag. :)

 

Meraad stifled a yawn as she ducked across the threshold of Captain Calder’s office for a predawn meeting with her council. The Captain rose from his seat to greet her, but Leliana signed for him to wait, then presented the bleary-eyed Inquisitor with a heavy stein of coffee.  
  
“Rough night?”   
  
She inhaled the rich aroma and drank deeply before replying, “yeah, though not the kind I’d like. I think I only managed about three hours of actual sleep before the runner came, so bless you for the coffee. Good morning everyone, and thank you Captain for allowing us the use of your office. Alright guys, let me have it, but let’s keep it brief, please. After the delayed start yesterday, I really want to be on the road by dawn so we can get this lot to Rainesfere by nightfall.”  
  
Cullen and Cassandra scoffed, and Meraad’s heart sank. “ _Vashedan._ Dare I even ask?”  
  
“Your Grace,” Josephine began. “I regret to inform you that many of the nobles in the outlying field have yet to rise. They apparently are unaccustomed to travelling at such an early hour, and…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably.  
  
The Inquisitor sipped her coffee. “Go on.”  
  
“...I have received several requests for you to wait until ‘a more civilized time to depart, perhaps closer to midday’.”  
  
A slow, inscrutable smile blossomed as Meraad licked spiced cream from her lips.  “Commander Cullen, will _our_ troops be fed and ready to move by dawn?”  
  
“Without fail, Inquisitor.”  
  
“Excellent. Sister Nightingale, are there any immediate issues to report that can’t wait until we at least stop for lunch?”  
  
“No, Inquisitor, and my scouts have also confirmed the road is clear ahead.”  
  
“Fantastic. Lady Montilyet, give me the written summary of the report and I’ll go over it as we ride. Captain Calder, that is an _exquisite_ hunting horn you’re wearing. May I borrow it for a few minutes, please?”  
  
“M-My Lady...” Josephine stammered, as Meraad accepted the horn from the grinning Captain. “What it is you intend to do?”  
  
Meraad simply winked and strode from the room, her Council and the Captain racing behind.

 

* * *

  
  
Anaan and Turner adjusted the final tie downs on Anaan’s wagon bed when the early morning hush was shattered by the clarion call of a hunting horn. It echoed from the surrounding mountains in a long, warbling cadence, and after a brief pause, repeated twice more in rapid succession.  
  
“Time to mount already?” Anaan asked.  
  
Turner shook his head. “No...I don’t recognize that signal.”  
  
“Because it’s not one of ours, Turner,” The Iron Bull called from the stable door. “That’s an Orlesian foxhunting call; a warning to the hunters the chase is on when the hounds flush the fox to open ground. Sounds like it’s coming from the noble’s camp.”  
  
The three men followed the noise to the market green, joining a large crowd of curious onlookers near the edge of the reserved camp. The Tal-Vashoth’s greater height afforded them a clear view of the field, and Anaan chuckled in Qunlat, “*Well, there’s _one_ mystery solved.*”  
  
The Inquisitor, flanked by her war council and Captain Calder, stood in the center of a covered stage usually reserved for auctions or musicians on market days. She sounded the horn twice more, then calmly passed it to Calder as a mob of nobles in various states of dress poured from the nearby pavilions like furious bees from a broken hive.  
  
Unmoved by the curses and indignant questions hurled at her and her team, Meraad sipped from her stein until she judged the attendance sufficient, then raised her marked hand to demand silence. In the predawn twilight the flaring rift mark lent an eerie green glow to her silverite horn caps and violet eyes, and she used it to full effect as she gazed imperiously down on the assembly.  
  
Not for the first time since reuniting with his daughter, Anaan was caught between memories of his shy, slouching little girl who tried to minimize herself among humans, and this defiant war goddess who cowed the nobles into awed submission.  _  
  
_ “GOOD MORNING, MY LORDS AND LADIES!” Meraad’s rich voice boomed. “It has come to my attention that some of you are unhappy about rising early, and have requested I delay the entire procession, _again,_ to grant you a few more hours of beauty sleep.”  
  
She paused a moment for the nobles to absorb the full weight of her displeasure, and to realize they were surrounded by a wholly unsympathetic audience of soldiers and working class citizens.  
  
“Now, I’ll confess I am not a morning person myself. But I am also not your hireling, nor are my people. You were invited to accompany us for YOUR safety, my lords and ladies, and barring unforeseen circumstance, we maintain schedule. With so many lives to account for I cannot, and _will_ not, compromise the needs of the whole to indulge the whims of a few. So if you wish the protection of the Inquisition on this trip, I don’t care if you shine, but you WILL rise, along with the rest of us. If this doesn’t work for you, please feel free to wait here for ‘a more civilized time’, and hire an independent escort to travel at your own pace. Otherwise, pack and eat in the next forty-five minutes, or we’re leaving without you. That is all.”  
  
Without a backward glance, she descended the stage and strode toward the Inquisition’s stables, whistling to her troops to muster. Anaan couldn’t help but grin as he,Turner, and Bull followed in her wake through the stable yard.  
  
"*Never thought I'd see the day when my slugabed offspring would be lecturing anyone on the importance of early rising. Her aunt and uncle would be laughing themselves sick.*"  
  
"*Yeah, I just hope she’s ready for the backlash,*" Bull said. "*Orlesians don’t take kindly to criticism, even when the bastards deserve it.*" _  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
_ Vivienne watched with barely-concealed horror as the Inquisitor disappeared into great central barn. Beside her, the Duke and Duchess de Freyen's reactions were unreadable behind their half masks, and the first enchanter feared the worst.  
  
“If you will please excuse me,Your Graces, it would appear our impetuous Inquisitor has need of my council. I do hope you weren’t offended by that rather boorish display. She does mean well.”  
  
“Offended?" Duke Robert laughed heartily. "My dear girl, after yesterday’s disgraceful delays I applaud her! Back in my day, my men and I would have marched to Jader by now. Order must be maintained! Maker willing, this will cull the wastrels from the ranks, and allow those of us who appreciate discipline to make proper use of our time.”  
  
“Indeed," Duchess Cybele agreed. "And who would have guessed an Ox...oh, Maker, do forgive me...a _Qunari,_ would know of fox hunting? Most amusing, and quite exhilarating, was it not, Madame?”  
  
“I am so pleased you appreciated the jest,” Vivienne smoothly replied. “I have worked tirelessly to instruct the Inquisitor in the ways of civilized society.”  
  
The Duke nodded sagely as he assisted his lady into their coach. “A challenge, I have no doubt, but for the greater good. You are doing the Maker’s work, Madame, and your contribution is duly noted. I must say I have been pleasantly surprised by what I have seen of this Inquisition so far. Yet despite Ambassador Montilyet’s assurances, if we are to grant our favor to this organization’s cause I should like a private word with Mistress Adaar. Extend to her our invitation to ride with us this morning, that we may discuss this matter further.”  
  
“Y-yes, it will be done, Your Grace. By your leave.”  
  
Though the majority of the lesser nobles and their servants scattered to pack, a few courtiers lingered by the stage, confused by the morning's strange turn of events. One of the men noticed Vivienne departing and exclaimed, “You there, Madame de Fer! What is this outrage?! We are not common soldiers to be ordered about! Are we to accept such brutish treatment from that…”  
  
“Have a care in how you complete that sentence, my dear Lord Delmar,” she purred, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard by the royal couple. “Had you the wits to notice, His Grace, Duke de Freyen, is within, and already prepared to depart. He is a soldier of many years distinguished service to the empire, surely you would not dare to call _him_ ‘common’?”  
  
Lord Delmar blanched as he backed away from the vehicle, suddenly wide awake. “N-n-not at all, Madame! I only meant…”  
  
“If your betters can endure without complaint, why should any exception be made for you? Dawn approaches swiftly, darling. Perhaps if you cease wasting time with petty grievances, you may also find breakfast still available. Otherwise you shall have to wait until we stop at midday. Do run along now.”  
  
Vivienne turned and strode to the stables, furiously calculating the ramifications of Meraad’s actions.  
  
_What in the Maker’s name was that stupid girl thinking?! As if Josephine and I didn’t already have our hands full convincing the Court to even allow her through the palace doors, she’s now defied and humiliated the courtiers in public. It’s only a matter of time before the commoners assume consent to rebel as well, as if those brutish Fereldans needed the invitation._ _  
__  
_ The thought of invitation, and being asked to deliver one like a common servant, made her stomach churn with rage.  
  
_Three years I’ve cultivated ties to the de Freyens, yet with one act the savage earns a private audience. Another great social boon falls into that oblivious hedge witch’s gigantic lap. It’s obscene! I must impress upon her the importance of this meeting before she makes a fool of herself, and takes the rest of us down with her._  
  
_And where were the counselors in all this? I expect little from Cullen or Cassandra in matters of diplomacy, but Josephine at the very least should have been a voice of reason! This only confirms that Meraad lacks proper supervision. I do hope this prank was worth it to you, ‘Lady’ Adaar. You may have gained the interest of His Grace, but the Inquisition may lose a dozen more allies in the process._  
  
A flash of light on polished horn caught her attention near the door. Vivienne scowled in contempt to see not the Inquisitor, but her father, laughing with Bull and one of the scouts on their way into the barn.  
  
_I wouldn’t be surprised if Anaan and Bull influenced this nonsense. Meraad was far more tractable before they arrived. Well, the Bull I can deal with. He respects women of authority, and the Inquisition will not last forever. So long as his Chargers still work within Orlais, he knows better than to cross me. As for her father, with winter approaching he should be returning to his hovel in the Marches soon. There are many ways to keep such a simple man occupied in the interim. Patience.  
  
_ Vivienne took full advantage of a fashionably late entrance to impress the rabble as she paused in the doorway to survey the scene. The barn was a massive stone structure supported by three timber-framed aisles, which contained the few hundred troops and personnel with room to spare. The Inquisitor chatted pleasantly with her ranking officers at the far end of the central aisle while her soldiers secured a flatbed wagon for use as a temporary stage. The guards stepped aside to allow Vivienne to pass, and she nodded in approval.  
  
_Good. At least some of them still remember their place. Now, where is Josephine?  
  
_ “Ah, Madame de Fer, good of you to join us,” the ambassador called from beside the wagon. “I believe everyone is present now, Inquisitor.”  
  
Vivienne leaned close to Josephine and whispered through a patently false smile, “What happened at council this morning? How could you of all people condone this madness, and the dangerous precedent it’s set? We must…”  
  
Josephine held up a graceful finger. “One moment please, Madame. You may wish to hear this.”  
  
A cheer echoed from the high stone walls as Meraad climbed up into the wagon bed, beaming at her troops with genuine affection.  
  
“Fine morning to you all, Inquisition! I know you’re all as eager to get on the road as I am, so I’ll try and make this quick.”  
  
_Yes, please do._ Vivienne mentally sneered. _Your speeches have done enough damage for one day.  
  
_ “I've called you here to discuss what just happened out on the green…” she paused as laughter rolled over the crowd. “Alright, settle down. Contrary to what you may think, that wasn’t a joke, people. I meant every word I said, though I fully expect there will be consequences for it.”  
  
_Oh, of THAT you can be certain, foolish girl. Pity you didn’t consider that beforehand, or have a care for the ones who will be cleaning up your mess.  
  
_ “For all the Inquisition’s good works to date, many folks still see us as nothing but well-armed mercenaries. But I’d like you all to look out there, please.”  
  
She pointed beyond the paddock to a small park set between the Inquisition and civilian districts of the outpost. A carved granite arch, twenty feet high and inset with engraved plaques, sheltered a perpetually-burning magic flame in a stone brazier.  
  
“Remember that marker well, ladies and gentlemen, particularly those of you who joined after we established base at Skyhold. You now stand where we survivors first found refuge after the Battle of Haven. That memorial is dedicated to the good men and women before you who...who gave their last in Haven's defense.”  
  
Her voice broke, heavy with unspoken grief, and she paused a moment to collect herself.  
  
“Regardless of our respective origins, races, or social station, when we joined the Inquisition, we each became part of something greater than ourselves. No matter what else may be said of us, our cause has never been about money, or glory. For we have seen the face of our true enemy. We have suffered his cruelty, and we know the horrors he will unleash on this world if we fail. THAT must always be our greater focus, Inquisition: stopping the beast Corypheus, and undoing the damage he and his allies have caused. To do that, we must all work together, and that includes those nobles out there who have yet to fully understand. So I want you to treat them at all times with the same professional courtesy and respect you show me. Show them the disciplined, dedicated, hard-working men and women that I and your officers know you are, and give them no reason to believe their faith in us is misplaced. WILL YOU DO THIS FOR ME?”  
  
Their rousing chorus of agreement sent hay dust drifting down from the rafters, and Meraad blinked back grateful tears.  
  
“Thank you all _so much_ for your support. I’m damned proud of each and every one of you. Never doubt that. Now return to your units, and lets get ready to roll out!”  
  
The troops and officers dispersed with brisk efficiency, but Vivienne could not take her eyes from the Haven memorial.  
  
_Dare I allow myself to believe in her sincerity that she seeks more than personal gain? There is no denying her efforts have achieved positive results, yet she has made so many questionable decisions as well...  
  
__No. No one is that altruistic. That isn’t how the world works. For all her denials and ridiculous claims that she would walk away from all this power once the enemy is defeated, she still accepted the title readily enough. There must be something more. To believe else is idealistic delusion.  
  
_ “Forgive me, Vivienne,” Josephine interrupted the first enchanter’s reverie. “You were about to say something regarding the Inquisitor’s morning address?”  
  
Madame de Fer waved dismissively. “It would appear the matter has resolved itself for now. Thank you for at least having the wisdom to advise the Inquisitor to address the troops before they became unruly.”  
  
“I didn’t.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“I said, I didn’t, Vivienne. This was entirely Lady Adaar’s doing. Perhaps she has a better understanding of the situation than you’ve given her credit for?”  
  
Vivienne laughed and turned to follow the Inquisitor. “I _very_ much doubt that. But so long as discipline is kept, that is sufficient for now. Farewell.”

* * *

  
  
Meraad fussed with the straps on her saddle bag long enough for the stablehand to leave, then whispered in Qunlat, “*He’s gone, _Kadan_ .*”  
  
Bull pulled her into the adjacent stall before the final word left her lips. Meraad grasped his horns and kissed him hungrily, locking her long legs around his hips as he braced her against the stone wall. His deep chuckle rumbled through her when she broke away to nuzzle beneath his jaw. Her entire world narrowed to his intoxicating scent, the heat of his body, and the caress of her husband's powerful hands.  
  
The strength of Bull's rising passion bombarded her empathic awareness, adding fuel to her already ferocious need, and she ground her hips against him in unmistakable invitation.  
  
Desperate hands scrambled for buckles and ties...they still had a few minutes, and as ready as they both were they wouldn’t need much...just shift the clothes a bit...  
  
“Inquisitor, are you here?”  
  
Meraad froze, her heart pounding, brain screaming with denial that turned to seething rage when she recognized the voice.  
  
_Oh GODS NOT NOW, you heartless bitch! You didn’t hear anything, just turn around and walk away!  
  
_ Vivienne’s voice lowered, speaking to someone beside her. “Are you quite sure you saw her? I’ve no time to waste. Return to the stable grounds and see if she slipped out the other door.”  
  
Bull sighed, eased Meraad’s feet to the floor and adjusted himself, taking steadying breaths to slow his own pulse. She shook her head in protest, her eyes begging him to stay. But he tenderly kissed her head and whispered, “*She’s not going to give up sweetheart, and you know it. Better go see what she wants.*”  
  
“* _Fine._ But if this proves to be nothing but another demand to train, I’ll fucking kill her.*”  
  
“*I’ll hide the body.*”  
  
She dove in for a last kiss, her lips lingering over his. “*Stay close, please, I don’t trust her.*”  
  
_And right now I don’t trust myself near her.  
  
_ “*I’ve got your back, _Kadan_. I know what to watch for now. Breathe.*”  
  
Meraad released a shuddering breath and bounced on her toes, shaking out her hands to disperse unreleased tension. After invoking a cantrip to refresh her hair and clothes, she held out her hands to silently ask if she looked presentable, and received an encouraging thumbs up in reply.  
  
She returned to her mare’s stall, grabbed the lead rope and walked quietly into the corridor, taking petty delight in Vivienne’s surprise when the first enchanter finally noticed her.  
  
“Oh! There you are! Did you not hear me calling you?”  
  
“No, Madame, I was...saddling my mount.”  
  
Vivienne huffed. “You have staff here for that, darling, It’s unseemly for the Inquisitor to...”  
  
“Had you considered that _maybe_ I wished a few minutes of peace before we departed, Vivienne? It’s been a busy morning.”  
  
“Yes, you have indeed been ‘busy’, my dear. And now I’ve come to inform you of one of those inevitable consequences you so cavalierly declared you would accept. You have an audience to attend, immediately.”  
  
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Madame. I've nothing scheduled until after we reach Rainesfere tonight.”  
  
“The invitation was issued only this morning. His Grace, Duke Robert de Freyen, has requested you ride with him in his coach to discuss terms of alliance, and I implore you to comport yourself with utmost dignity. They could be powerful assets to our cause.”  
  
_Ohhh, so THAT'S it. The de Freyens were with her in the stands when I dueled Dorian...she's desperate to add them to her collection of personal patrons. It must be **killing** her to have to bring their invitation to me instead.   
  
Good.  
  
_ From the shadows of the stable, Meraad sensed Bull’s watchful gaze, and it inspired her to be bold.  
  
“Very well, Madame, let’s go.”  
  
“Just like that?” Vivienne asked suspiciously. “I expected at least some reluctance from you.”  
  
“Time is short. The unscheduled audience is a breach of protocol, but if you feel they’re that important, then for your sake I’m willing to make an exception. Please, lead the way.”  
  
They set off at a brisk pace, stopping only for Meraad to pass her mare’s lead to one of her guards and signal him to follow. All the way back to the green, Vivienne inundated her with what she felt were pertinent details, despite the fact she’d drilled the Inquisitor about the de Freyen family the week before. It didn’t matter. So long as Vivienne focused on her, she wouldn’t notice Bull in the periphery, casually keeping pace with them while appearing to attend his duties.  
  
Meraad followed her along the line of waiting carriages to an ornate coach bearing the de Freyen arms on its polished door, and when a well-dressed coachman approached, she announced, “I am Inquisitor Adaar. I believe His Grace is expecting me.”  
  
The man eyed her dubiously, but upon recognizing Madame de Fer, left them long enough to speak to the royal occupants for verification. She occupied the wait time by studying the coach’s design, and found a comically fatal flaw in their intended meeting place.  
  
_Beyond the fact my guard would never let me stay out of line of sight in an enclosed carriage with nobles who haven’t declared alliance, there is simply NO way I’m fitting through that tiny door.  
  
_ _For the first time in my life I can honestly thank you Papa for my freakishly large horns.  
  
_ The royal couple simultaneously raised their window shades, expecting to dominate their visitors from high ground, and found themselves squarely at level with the buxom Inquisitor’s breastplate. Humans often underestimated how large Qunari were up close until actually face-to-face with one, and for once Meraad was far too amused by the situation to take offense at their stunned expressions. _  
  
_ “Good morning _,_ Duke Robert,” she politely greeted them in fluent Orlesian. “And to you as well, Duchess Cybele. It’s a great honor to finally meet you both.”  
  
The absurdity of hearing the horned giantess speak in their native tongue proved sufficient to rouse the couple back into recognized civil parameters, although the duke’s eyes lingered uncomfortably long on her cleavage.   
  
“Ah. Yes," he cleared his throat. "Good morning to you as well, Inquisitor. We are most interested in discussing how we may assist the Inquisition in its mission."  
  
“I cannot thank you enough for your generous invitation, Your Graces, but I’m afraid at this time I must respectfully decline.”  
  
“ _What?!”_ Vivienne hissed.   
  
Meraad ignored the outburst as she continued, “Not in any way due to your company, but for your conveyance. As you can see...” She held her hands up to the width of her horns, then measured a straight line landing well outside the narrow door frame. “I’m not a petite woman, and I fear your lovely carriage wasn’t built to accommodate someone of my stature. Perhaps we may instead meet for dinner in Rainesfere tonight, and discuss the matter in a more comfortable setting?”  
  
The duke sighed in open relief, grateful to be extricated from this awkward circumstance with his honor intact. “We would be delighted, Inquisitor. Until this evening, then.”  
  
“And In the interim, if I may be so bold, I should like to request that Madame de Fer travel with you in my stead, to answer any questions you may have concerning the true purpose of the Inquisition.”  
  
Meraad stared into Vivienne’s startled eyes, silently daring her to refuse. “I have _complete_ faith that she will represent me well.”  
  
_And now you owe me, Vivienne.  
  
_ “A marvelous idea!” Duchess Cybele exclaimed. “Please do join us, Madame.”  
  
Vivienne studied the Inquisitor with new respect. “This is...most generous of you, Inquisitor.”  
  
“The pleasure's all mine. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for us to leave. Good day to you all.”  
  
Meraad quickly strode to where she’d left the guard with her horse, and was thrilled to see Bull waiting instead.  
  
“Hey, Boss. Randolph was called away. Told him I’d wait for you.”  
  
“Much appreciated, Captain.”  
  
He lifted her into the saddle, saying softly in Qunlat, “*Nice work. I’m proud of you.*”  
  
“*Thank you, Love. Will I see you tonight?*” She whispered, then winced. “*Shit. Belay that. I have no idea how long I’ll be in this meeting.*”  
  
“*It’s okay, _Kadan_ . Do what you have to do.*”  
  
She schooled her expression, sniffing back angry tears as she rode away to join the vanguard.  
  
“*I always do.*”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fox hunting call I referenced is known as "Gone Away". An example of it can be heard here:  
> https://youtu.be/9WEVfY-UrXw


	9. The Hunter

 

Mountain thunder thrummed through the great cavern, singing, calling, rousing the Hunter from hibernation.   
  
The charged air sparked in her sluggish veins, urging her to summon sky fire to shake the numbing chill of the stones from her limbs.  
  
But instinct warned her to hold. Scent first for threats.  
  
Smell of running water, more metallic than she remembered. No smells of loam and saltwater, no cries of water birds, or wind through the sea grass.  
  
This was not her lair.  
  
A dragon had sheltered here, a rival queen not of her brood, but her scent was fading.  
  
She risked movement to look beyond her den...then recoiled.  
  
The cavern reeked of man.  
  
Panic and memories assaulted her as she struggled through the lethargy of her long sleep. Dreams of burning blood and battle, of rage and ringing metal. Of drowning in a freezing tide.  
  
She pinned her back to the wall, ready to destroy the ancient enemy with fire and claw should they approach, but the men did not follow, nor run in fear at the sight of her, nor threaten her with metal and magic. They nested around small fires, unaware of the death that towered above them.  
  
Her stomach growled painfully, and the Hunter considered eating them, though the taste of man flesh was unappealing. She needed strength should the rival queen return, and meat was meat.  
  
Then her golden eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she hissed with fear at the size of their pack. Men and and their captive prey beasts filled the outer chamber in greater number than she’d ever fought at once, even in her youth. If she killed one the rest would swarm, and she wasn’t strong enough to take so large a pack on the ground.  
  
Her only choice was to flee on the freezing winds, and find a new lair where man could not follow.   
  
Silently she skirted the wall of the outer cavern, focused on the open sky beyond the great arch.   
  
But as she reached the final ring of nesting men, a roar of pain echoed from the depths of a branching tunnel. The Hunter paused, torn between her freedom, and a primal need to answer.  
  
The voice cried again, louder, demanding, _familiar,_  followed by a scent that instantly negated all fears for her own survival.  
  
A dragon.  
  
A _male_ dragon.  
  
Her mate, bound by blood and fire, lost and hurt in the darkness.  
  
She blindly pelted down the slippery tunnel, calling to him in response, her horns scraping moss from the low ceiling in her wake. When the tunnel opened into a larger den, only the soft blue glow of fungus kept her from trampling the small nest of armed men.  
  
Were these captors? Should she kill them?  
  
No...his scent was upon them. He'd marked them as brood. They would live, for now.  
  
The Drake roared again, and the Hunter flew over the sleeping men into the darkness of a smaller cavern beyond.   
  
She found him there, thrashing in the corrupted coils of a horned serpent of shadow and blood. The beast constricted as the Hunter approached, mocking her, daring her to fight for its prey, and though her mate raked it with tooth and claw, his strength was failing.  
  
The Hunter roared defiance and called the sky fire from her veins to scorch and burn. As he attacked from below, she struck from above, until the shadow beast released him, and the last of their enemy’s tormented wails faded with its death.  
  
Only then did the triumphant queen fall to the stone beside her mate, chilled by the loss of her fire. He draped himself around her to share the heat of his battle-scarred body, purring to soothe her rage, and in its place incite her lust.  
  
Such was the way of dragon -- to fight, to feed, to breed. Only the strongest drake would claim the high queen, his seed insuring a good clutch, and from their bond the hatchlings would thrive. The musk of his arousal filled her senses, awakening a greater hunger. They would mate, then slay the nest of men together to claim this lair for their brood.  
  
She rolled to her belly and arched her hips, hissing and trilling in submission as her claws tore the stone.  
  
He seized the back of her neck in his powerful jaws and pinned her beneath him before angling his hips to thrust...  
  
A gentle hand tugged her ankle.  
  
The Hunter’s scream of loss echoed across the Fade as the vision slipped from her grasp, but only a hoarse, “ _...no..._ ” escaped Meraad’s parched lips as she shuddered awake.  
  
She struggled to focus in the dim glow of the fungus-lined cavern, disoriented by the rush of conflicting sensations. Bull's scent was everywhere, yet nowhere. She felt the welcome weight of his body at her back, his hot breath against her throat, but her searching hands found only fur bedding and uncaring stone. Frustrated tears burned her cheeks as she struggled not to tear the intruder apart with claws she no longer had.  
  
“Meraad, _ma chère_ ,” Leliana whispered sadly. “I’m so very sorry to wake you. The scouts report another landslide has blocked the lower pass, and we need your help to clear it if we’re to get everyone out. I’ve brought food and coffee, the team is assembling now.”  
  
The Inquisitor clutched her husband’s dragon tooth in her trembling hand until the sharp tip pierced her palm, adding another tiny wound to the collection she’d started over a fortnight before.  
  
This was real. She was awake, and she was needed.  
  
“I understand.”

 


	10. The Things We Do For Love

Anaan leaned against the cavern wall of the cook’s camp, thankful for the reflected heat of the campfire as he cradled a tankard of coffee in his stiff, aching fingers. The chatter of fellow scouts competed with the thunder, and the smoky air was laced with the savory scents of cooking meat, onions and fresh bread.   
  
Three weeks of hard travel in foul weather was taking a heavy toll on his joints, and a dawn patrol in a freezing downpour hadn’t helped. He lingered over his first sip, the aromatic steam masking the odor of his damp wool coat, and once again questioned the wisdom of ever leaving the Free Marches at his age.  
  
_Heh. I can just hear Hissera now, "Sore just means you’re still breathing". I know, it's my own damned fault, and gods know the nobles are doing enough whining without my adding to it. Just wish I hadn’t had to deliver the news about the landslide after all the delays though. Here’s hoping we can get off this miserable trail today and the weather will be better in the lowlands.  
  
_ Despite the strong coffee, between a full belly and the restorative heat he didn’t realize he’d begun to doze until the wood of the crate he’d chosen for a makeshift bench creaked under the weight of a new occupant. His hands reflexively reached for his blades as he mentally cursed himself for his lapse in guard.  
  
“Blessed _Maker_ , that fire feels good,” Turner groaned, settling against the wall with his own tankard of coffee. “Hey there, old man! Figures you’d find the warmest spot in the place.”  
  
Anaan’s relaxed chuckle belied his racing heart. “Well, mine are a hot-blooded folk, Eton. Be it a bonfire, or the arms of a willing partner, you can always count on a Qunari to find the warm spot. What’s the word around camp this morning?”  
  
The scout pretended to sip as he whispered in Qunlat, “*Nightingale sent me. Meet at the officer’s quarters. Exact words were, ‘urgent and discreet’.*” Then he took a proper swallow and continued in Trade tongue, “pretty quiet for now, all things considered. Just catching some breakfast before we head out. Saw you here, and thought I’d pay my respects.”  
  
“Well, I appreciate the kindness,” Anaan nodded in acknowledgement, before standing with exaggerated stiffness. “But I’m afraid I can’t stay to chat. I only stopped to thaw out myself, can’t be dawdling more than I already have. See you later.”  
  
Once clear of the firelight, the old rogue shivered as the chill shadows of stealth enfolded him, then passed like a wraith through the troop lines to the tunnel housing the war council’s temporary quarters. He found Leliana beside a folding table covered in maps and missives, speaking with one of Meraad’s personal guards. The spymaster _seemed_ calm, and the man showed no sign of concern, which only reinforced this was something Nightingale had a vested interest in keeping quiet.  
  
To his annoyance, one of her message ravens sensed his presence and croaked a warning. Leliana smirked, dismissed the guard back to duty, and murmured, “ _Bonjour,_ Anaan. Thank you for coming quickly.”  
  
The cloak of stealth dissipated into smoke as he casually stepped into the torchlight.  “And a fine good morning to you as well, Sister Nightingale. How may I be of service?”  
  
“The Inquisitor has woken badly, I’m afraid. I believe she may benefit from your presence.”  
  
“‘Badly’ is a pretty broad term when it comes to mages, Leliana. Was anyone hurt?”  
  
“No, but I am reluctant for anyone she doesn’t intimately trust to wake her now.” She clasped his arm and whispered, “I've no explanation for what I witnessed, Anaan, save that she was _not_  herself. I ask that you speak with her, as her father, and help me determine if further steps are necessary.”  
  
His heart sank at her unspoken warning. “ _Vashedan._ Well, thanks for not calling the templars first, though being partnered with a mage yourself I expect you know they can be given to odd outbursts now and then. But isn’t Bull already with her?”  
  
“Unfortunately not. The Captain remains with the Chargers until he is needed.”  
  
“What?! Damn it girl, he _IS_ needed, and you of all people know why!”  
  
“I do, and were it solely up to me he would be here. But the circumstances are…complicated, so I turn to you. Please, go to her, quietly, then return with your report. The guard is expecting you.”  
  
“Fine," he growled. "But the council and I will be discussing this later, is that understood?”  
  
Leliana’s smile did not reach her eyes. “Good. Perhaps in this your voice may carry farther than mine. But one battle at a time, yes?”  
  
Anaan took a steadying breath and strode to the grotto serving as the Inquisitor’s quarters. A heavy cloak had been tacked up over the entrance to provide the Inquisitor a semblance of privacy, if not security. At the sight of him, the guardsman lifted one edge and called within, “visitor to see you, Your Grace.”  
  
There was no mistaking the irritation in her sigh before her heavy footsteps approached. Meraad shoved the cloak aside, and Anaan winced at the sudden brightness of the conjured wisp hovering behind her.  
  
She stared at him in confusion, then quickly scanned the corridor before saying in Qunlat, “*Okay, not whom I expected. Come in then, Papa. I’m just packing.*”  
  
The grotto was cramped, barely high enough for the two of them to stand, and so narrow he wagered he could touch the opposite walls if he stretched. She knelt on her bedding and rolled her clothing into tight bundles, attacking each piece as if she resented their very existence. The sullen display in itself didn’t phase him; she'd never been fond of conversation right after waking, even on a good day, and he was interrupting her routine. But Leliana wasn’t easily startled.  
  
_Well, no surprise she slept poorly, considering she’s quartered in a space smaller than a damn root cellar. Her hands are shaking, looks like she’s favoring an injury to one, and she’s rearranging that gear bag like she doesn’t remember how it all goes. But I'm not seeing fatigue. She came to that door braced for a fight.  
  
_ “It’s good to see you, _Imekari._ I was just passing by, thought I’d stop and see how you were doing.”  
  
“Wow,” she huffed, shoving a bundle of socks into her rucksack. “Now I _know_  I’m in trouble if that’s the best you can come up with. I’m actually a bit disappointed.”  
  
“Why would you think you’re in trouble? Can’t a man simply want to see his daughter?”  
  
Her red-rimmed eyes flashed in defiance. _“Seriously?_ I’m not stupid, Papa. Nor am I possessed, but since Leliana’s called for a second opinion, I suppose my word isn’t worth much on that count right now. I’m only surprised to see you and not Cassandra. Or would you like to keep wasting time denying that’s why you’re really here?”  
  
Anaan held up his hands in a gesture for peace. “I have _never_ thought you stupid _._ Yes, Nightingale asked me to talk with you, because she’s worried, and so am I. So how about you pull back your horns and appreciate there are people who care enough to make sure you’re alright, hmm? What happened to your hand?”  
  
“Nothing. I tripped in the dark and scraped my palm on the stone. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“And you call me a bad liar. I only see one bedroll, you and Bull still fighting?”  
  
“Fight...? Oh sod it all, is _that_  what people are saying? Great. No wonder our friends have been walking on eggshells around me. I suppose that’s why you’ve been avoiding me too.” She flinched as she braided her hair, struggling with the strands until Anaan gently took the comb.  
  
“Here, let me help. No, that isn’t why. I was keeping out of sight, yes, because I figured you didn’t need me underfoot on the way. I volunteered to help Leliana with the advance scouts. In fact, I’m the one that brought in the report about the landslide ahead. But I’m here now, so catch me up. Nightingale said things with you and Bull are ‘complicated’?”  
  
“There’s an understatement. We were advised the nobles might be ‘uncomfortable’ if the Inquisitor openly fraternized with one of her captains, particularly one with Bull’s hedonistic reputation in Orlais. Never mind we’d been discreet before, now that we’re traveling with a hundred pissy courtiers, fuck me for not wanting to be the untouchable icon of their repressive faith.”  
  
“As if Orlesians are anyone to judge. You're at least meeting in your downtime, right?”  
  
“What downtime do you think I have? Between the war council, Vivienne’s lessons, and the nobles hounding me at every turn, I can’t even use the damned privy without someone to stand guard! Bull and I haven’t had an uninterrupted moment alone since the night before we left Skyhold.”  
  
“ _Imekari,_ that was three weeks ago.”  
  
“Two weeks, six days and five hours, not that anyone’s counting. It doesn’t matter. We should have been to Halamshiral last weekend, and the courtiers know it. Someone started a rumor that the bad weather might be a sign of their Maker’s disapproval with the apostate Inquisitor, so I don’t dare do anything to offend them right now. Getting everyone off the mountain safely is more important than my sleeping alone.”  
  
He cupped her chin to compel her to meet his gaze, and the unforgiving light highlighted how careworn she’d become.  
  
“I hear you, but you don’t understand how serious this really is. Qunari have Tamassrans for good reason, sweetling, and the support you and Bull provide each other is more than physical. Three weeks out of close contact isn’t healthy for either of you, for many reasons.”  
  
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? We’ve been away from each other before and lived to tell the tale.”  
  
“Don’t be flippant.” Anaan frowned, tying off the end of her braid. “Those missions took you both out of sight of each other, with a team of close companions to support and keep you distracted. Here he has to be close enough to guard you, yet keep professional distance. It’s rubbing salt in an open wound.”  
  
The conjured wisp flared as her fists clenched, and the air of the tiny grotto turned stifling and oppressive, crackling with static and the scent of ozone. Eyes once the same deep amethyst as his own suddenly glowed molten gold, and a voice he’d never heard from his daughter's lips hissed in anguished fury, “They're  _hurting_ him…my _Kadan_...I smell him.. _feel_  him...his rage, his PAIN. He calls to me in my sleep but can’t hear me when I answer! I WILL NOT lose him to the mist again! I have to FIGHT them! I have to...”  
  
Anaan's piercing whistle jolted her into disoriented panic, but he held her steady, even as his own heart pounded with fear while he waited for her color and lucidity to return.  
  
“I- I’m sorry, Papa…” she stammered. “W-what were you were saying?”  
  
He cleared his dry throat and retrieved her breakfast from the plate beside her bed.   
  
“I said...that you need to eat while I pack up your bedding.”  
  
“Oh. Thanks.” She shook her head and took a bite of the meat-filled pastry. “Gods, this is really good. I’m ravenous today! Anyway, yes, Bull and I tried to meet in secret, but we were...”  
  
“Guardsman, _please_ ,” a plaintive, feminine voice rang from the corridor. “I know she is within, you must let me pass!”  
  
Meraad rubbed her temples. “Speak of the demon.”  
  
“Friend of yours?”  
  
“Not remotely.” She called to the hallway, “Go on, Randolph, let her in.”  
  
Anaan stepped behind Meraad to allow room as a young elf with bobbed, blonde hair entered, carrying a bundle of dark silk. The girl halted in surprise at the sight of him, but quickly recovered her composure with a plastered smile.  
  
“Good morning, Inquisitor. Madame requires you to...”  
  
“Whatever it is, Brigitte, the answer is no.”  
  
“But Madame _insists_ you try your dress uniform to confirm the fit. It’s imperative!”  
  
Sensing trouble, Anaan politely coughed. “Meraad, I don’t believe I’ve met this young lady yet.”  
  
“*Wish I could say the same,*” she muttered in Qunlat, than announced, “Papa, this is Brigitte, Madame de Fer’s handmaid, and my perpetual shadow. Brigitte, this is my father, Master Anaan Adaar. I would say show him the same courtesy you show me, but I expect you to actually be respectful to him. And my answer is still ‘no’.”  
  
He gaped at his daughter’s rudeness. “Little harsh there, don’t you think?”  
  
“It’s quite alright,” Brigitte meekly replied, her eyes downcast. “I am accustomed to it. _Merci."  
  
_ Meraad bristled. " _Ohhh,_ don’t you _DARE_ play the martyr with me, girl. You know the rules. I only let you in so you could tell Madame we have another landslide to clear ahead. _GO."  
  
_ The instant she departed, Anaan turned Meraad to face him. “What was all that? If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I’d never believe you were capable of mistreating a servant.”  
  
“Mistreat?! Papa, she shouldn’t have even _been_ here. You have no idea what...”  
  
“You’re snapping, Meraad,” he interrupted, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Come on, sweetling, I raised you better than this. Pull yourself together.”  
  
Her features hardened into a mask of cool disdain as she brushed his hand away, and a sudden shiver ran down Anaan’s spine. Under the stark, unforgiving light, he'd have sworn he was facing Asha’s ghost.  
  
“Thank you for your council, Scout,” she tonelessly replied. “Your complaint is noted, and will be taken under advisement. You are dismissed.”  
  
“That isn’t funny, _Imekari."_  
  
"I’m not laughing, _Serah._ You don’t have all the facts, and I don’t have time to enlighten you. Since you’re only here as a volunteer, if you find my methods intolerable you’re under no obligation to stay. Otherwise, return to your post and get ready to leave.”  
  
A dozen retorts sprang to his mind, but as he watched his child bury herself deeper beneath the armor of The Inquisitor, he let them all go. He needed to mend this bridge, not torch it.  
  
With a respectful salute, he softly said, ”I’ll be here for as long as you need me, Ma’am. See you outside.”  
  
  


* * *

  
Anaan's gut twisted in angry knots as he strode to the war council's camp, where Nightingale beckoned him to join her.   
  
“Well? Did you see?”  
  
“Permission to speak freely?”  
  
“Granted.”  
  
“Aye, I saw it. She's not lost yet, but there’s reason to be concerned. However, being concerned, and actually _doing_ something about it are two different things. This situation was _completely_ preventable, and since I know she’d never have accepted an order to separate from her husband, who in the Void convinced her to go along with it? I have my suspicions, but I’d like confirmation.”  
  
“Vivienne, of course,” Leliana sneered. “There was an incident between Madame and Meraad shortly before we departed Skyhold. It was resolved, but it created enough of a disturbance among the courtiers that awkward questions rose regarding Bull’s role as her bodyguard, no doubt encouraged by Vivienne herself. The Inquisitor informed the council the next day that greater discretion was needed lest the nobles withdraw their support, and we reluctantly agreed.”  
  
“I feared as much.” He sighed. “And there was no way any of you could have predicted they’d be apart this long. But you and I both know that 'the nobles will be offended if she’s not a celibate holy icon’ story is a pile of polished horseshit.”  
  
The spymaster laughed mirthlessly. “More likely they are upset that Bull is no longer available for personal hire. According to Krem, several lucrative bids have been offered for the Captain’s services, and he's refused them all, citing an exclusive contract to the Inquisition.”  
  
“Good man. Though that also puts him and his company in dangerous water with the Court. This war won’t last forever, and the nobles have long memories. I hope the Inquisition is looking out for them.”  
  
“Do you doubt me, _Monsieur?_ I have been where he is now, and true loyalty in time of crisis is beyond price. I promise you neither Bull nor his Chargers will suffer for his devotion if I have any say in the matter, and I have _much_  to say in this.”  
  
“There's something else. We were interrupted by an elf named Brigitte. Meraad got surly with the girl, and I called her out for snapping at a servant, which earned me a swift dismissal for the effort. She said Brigitte wasn’t supposed to be there, and ‘she knew the rules’. Can you clarify that so I don’t make the same mistake in future?”  
  
Nightingale scowled as she cinched her packs closed. “ _Merde._ I shall speak to Vivienne, and to Randolph for allowing her entrance.”  
  
“Well, in the guard’s defense, Meraad ordered him to do it, so she could chastise Brigitte and send her off with orders to her mistress. Why the concern?”  
  
“Brigitte is a bard, Anaan. It is not uncommon for members of the Court to have at least one in their employ for protection, and Vivienne has many, though only this one was chosen to accompany her. I have yet to discern why. Madame assumes I am unaware, and I have not dissuaded that belief provided the girl behaves, but she has become a nuisance, and was explicitly told to keep her distance when not in company of Madame de Fer. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now, have you any advice for how we may best aid the Inquisitor?”  
  
Anaan considered the matter as he helped gather Leliana's baggage. “Beyond quartering her back with her husband? Yes. If it’s all the same to you, now that I know what’s going on I think I should stick closer to camp and help keep a weather eye on the situation. Or at least as much as she'll allow. Meraad wasn’t too happy with me when we parted.”  
  
“Agreed. Perhaps I should ask Cassandra to monitor her now as well?”  
  
He shook his head. “While I respect the Seeker, she’s as subtle as a brick. But, on the bright side, now that Meraad knows we’re worried, she'll be more determined to show she's in control, so that could prove to be a blessing in disguise.”  
  
“Then I shall apprise the council quietly. So long as the Inquisitor remains stable for now, our priority must be reaching the lowlands safely. Thank you for your insight.”  
  
“Thanks for letting me help. For what it’s worth, Leliana, I’m glad you’re here. I won’t be around forever either, so it’s a comfort to know my daughter and son-in-law have at least one friend close by that understands them.” He kissed her hand and winked, ”Now, come along, young lady. I’ll get your bags loaded, but you’ve got to carry your own damned birds.”  
  
Leliana’s eyes twinkled impishly as she lifted Baron Plucky’s cage and followed Anaan to the waiting wagon.  
  
“But my sweet birds are so fond of you, Anaan! They tell me _all_ about you whenever you’re near.”  
  
“Of course they do! ‘Is that the man with the perches on his head? I have a mighty need to crap on his shoulders.’ If my sister and daughter didn’t love the little menaces so much I’d never let them in my home.”  
  
The raven glared balefully at him, and Anaan grinned back. “ _Ja,_ you heard me, bird. You'd better behave. Someday clever folk will find a way to communicate faster than you can fly, and then where will you be?”  
  
“No doubt still pampered like a prince and terrorizing the staff,” Cullen laughed from the doorway. “Good morning Sister, Master Anaan. The Inquisitor’s called the assembly, get ready to move out. Maker willing, we should be off the mountain by midday.”  
  
Thunder rolled ominously through the pass, and as Anaan watched the defiant line of his daughter’s back as The Inquisitor conferred with her team, he wondered whose voice he’d heard, and who was currently in control.  
  
_What’s that old saying? ‘The surest way to make the gods laugh is to tell them your plans.’_


	11. Rude Awakening

  
Bull scowled as he double-checked the morning report, his temples throbbing from a fatigue headache even a third cup of coffee couldn’t touch.  
  
“Krem, I’m not in the mood for pranks. Where’s the real supply report?”  
  
“Told ‘em you’d say that. You’re holding it, Chief. Verified it myself.”  
  
“Didn’t our requisition forms get submitted?”  
  
“Yup, and quartermaster’s hands are tied, so Stitches and I went over our company stores this morning to confirm what we had left. Apparently the nobles are blowing through food like there’s no tomorrow, and the Inquisitor’s planned restock at Orzammar fell through. The dwarf merchants claimed their shipments got stolen in the Exalted Plains, so until the civil war is sorted and trade routes secured, all their remaining goods were funneled to Orzammar proper before the city gates were sealed. Morris had to verify his own stock first before Ambassador Montilyet could alert the rest of the companies. So what you see is what we’ve got, but if we’re careful we should be fine at least to Halamshiral.”  
  
“Shit.” Bull adjusted the straps on his ankle brace as he considered their options. “No, like it or not, we’re in this together. Tell the Ambassador the Chargers are willing to share our remaining stores with the Inquisition, and they can reimburse us. I know they’re good for it. Anything else?”  
  
“Yeah...bit of personal mail.” He stifled a cough as he delivered the missive by one corner. “Sorry, the Comtesse insisted it was urgent.”  
  
The Captain reluctantly accepted the packet, sealed with expensive green wax the color of the lusty heiress’s eyes. Its smooth ivory paper, saturated in a blend of damask rose and ambergris as cloying as the woman who sent it, invoked unwanted memories of her pale skin and fiery hair as she’d writhed for him by candlelight years before.  
  
It was her third letter this week, each more fragrant than the last, convinced he was playing hard-to-get rather than accept he’d ever refuse. He was sick of it. Sick of her, and of the all the entitled courtiers with their indifference to anything beyond their own amusements.  
  
As a spy, it had been so easy to distance himself from it, to be in their world but never _of_ it. Now there was no escaping them, and that reality smothered him more than Oriane’s nauseating _parfum_.  
  
He hungered for the comforting scents of _home._ Of spice tea, incense, and the sea. Of frangipani and night-blooming jasmine woven through hair the icy platinum of sunlit snow. Of musk and honey on soft pewter skin, and soothing balm on horns as dark as a polished dragon tooth.  
  
“Chief? You okay?”  
  
Bull startled, crushed the unopened missive, and tossed it on the fire.   
  
“Tell the Comtesse my answer’s the same, and this is the last time I’m giving it. _I don’t break contracts._ ”  
  
He gathered his packs and stalked into the main cavern toward the temporary paddock, pulling a clump of moss off the cave wall to wipe the stench from his hands. The action drew the attention of a group of young courtiers huddling for warmth near a brazier. One of the men _mooed_ under his breath as he passed, which sent his female companions giggling, and Bull sighed in resignation at the predictable stupidity of bored humans.  
  
Clearly assuming he didn’t understand Orlesian, they assessed him like a beast at auction, sharing crude theories about Qunari mating rituals that grew more exaggerated with every speaker. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. At times he’d even found it flattering. But today it grated his nerves, particularly when their lewd theories began to include his wife. Qunari men were a rare enough sight this far south, but women were even rarer, and he was glad Meraad wasn’t in earshot of this filth.  
  
_Keep it up assholes, and I just may end this day wearing one of your skulls for MY fancy little mask.  
  
_ Suddenly the group fell silent. Bull turned to see Anaan towering above them, calmly warming his giant, scarred hands at their fire as if he’d been part of their company all along. The elder Adaar waved to his son-in-law in greeting, and in fluent Orlesian wished Bull and his company a very good day and safe travels.  
  
Bull grinned and returned the well wish in the same tongue, relishing the courtiers' collective horror. Anaan clapped their ringleader on the shoulder with more force than was necessary, informed them all it was time to depart, and disappeared into the cave as quietly as he’d arrived.  
  
They scattered like roaches in torchlight to the relative safety of their family carriages, and Bull returned to securing his saddlebags.  
  
“*Nice work,*” he murmured, never raising his eye from his task. “*Five royals says two of them are sporting wet trousers.*”  
  
Anaan’s chuckle was barely a whisper from the nearby shadows. “*Must be losing my touch, I was aiming for at least three. How’s it going, Son? Not meaning to pry, but I heard you and your missus are struggling through some rough waters. If you need a sympathetic ear, mine are open.*”  
  
“*I appreciate that, and when we have more time I may take you up on it. How ‘bout next time we hit town, drinks are on me?*”  
  
“*Deal. Until then, thought you might like to know the horn-hatted witch and her pet are tucked into one of the courtier’s carriages, so if you’ve a mind to see your Kadan, now’s your chance. The scouts are watching for you, just be careful on that slick road.*”  
  
“*Best news I’ve heard all morning. Thanks.*” He bolted into the saddle, and Anaan shifted the temporary paddock gate to let him out.  
  
“*I don’t need thanks, just want to see you kids happy. You’re family now, Bull. I’ll help you both however I can. Remember that.*”  
  
Bull rode out of the cavern, past the line of pageant wagons and chevaliers to the forward ranks of Inquisition infantry, scanning over their heads for a gleam of silverite horn caps in the mist.  
  
The canyon road narrowed to barely two carts wide, pressing the troops into close formation, and for a frustrating moment it appeared he might have to wait until the next turnout to get through. But as soon as the soldiers saw him they cleared a path for his horse, and closed ranks in his wake, offering respectful greetings he was more than happy to return.  
  
Near the head of the column he spotted the empty saddle of Meraad’s mare, Calla; a sturdy black Amaranthine Charger tall enough to hide even the statuesque Inquisitor walking alongside. Cassandra, Cullen and Leliana walked their own mounts in line with her, but Meraad pointedly ignored them, seeking as much space as she could. Not a good sign.  
  
Nightingale smiled kindly at his approach, and shifted to allow him to take her place in the line. He slipped on the wet stone as he dismounted, causing him to hiss as the pain shot up his bad ankle.  
  
“*You alright?*” Meraad quickly asked in Qunlat.  
  
“*Yeah, just misstepped. How you doing, Kadan?*”  
  
“*I’m fi…,*” she began, then remembered who she was talking to. “*I’m...okay. But don’t bullshit me about that leg, _Serah,_ I know how sore you get in bad weather, and I can already see you didn’t sleep worth a damn. Have you eaten?*”  
  
He chuckled, both loving and irritated by her fussing. “*The pain's nothing new, or that I can’t handle, and yes, I had some coffee. I’ll be fine.*”  
  
Meraad gave him a sidelong glance, then shook her head and reached into her bag, retrieving a meat pie, and a small bundle of elfroot.  
  
“*Here, I saved one from breakfast. Don’t roll your eye at me, eat. Just chew the elfroot first. Did you get word about the supplies?*”  
  
“*Yup. Already gave the order to disburse my team’s stores to help.*”  
  
“*You don’t know how much I appreciate that. I’ll make sure the Chargers get every bit of it back, with interest. I’d sooner be fighting Corypheus himself than try to tell these people they need to ration anything right now, but thankfully Josephine’s handling it for me. I’m going to owe that poor woman a crate of booze-filled chocolates after all this. But while we have a moment...*” She slipped her hand into his. “* _Gods,_ I’ve missed you. Never thought I’d see the day where even one touch was worth more than gold, but here it is.*”  
  
He drew her palm to his lips, letting the taste and scent of her skin fill his senses as he kissed to the pulse point of her wrist, and the sound of her barely-suppressed moan was music to his ears.   
  
“*I missed you too, Kadan. Be real glad when this court crap is over and we can just get back to fighting things.*”  
  
Meraad flinched and gently pulled away, returning to simply holding his hand.  
  
“*Did I say something wrong?*”  
  
“*No. Well, not really, I...I was just reminded of something Papa said this morning. One of the _many_ things he lectured me for, after I told him the truth about why we’re sleeping separately, was that ‘Qunari have tamassrans for good reason’, and it wasn’t healthy for either of us to be apart like this.*”  
  
“*I wondered how he heard about all this so soon after coming in off patrol. And he’s not wrong, but what’s your point?*”  
  
She swallowed hard and stared at the road ahead. “*I’m told you’ve been getting requests from the courtiers to hire your...services. A couple of them actually approached me directly to demand that I break your contract, if only for the weekend.*”  
  
“*Huh. Awkward.*”  
  
“*You think?! I refused, of course. I don’t care how much we need their support, I’m not a damned panderer. But...now I’m beginning to question if it was in your best interest not to at least consult you first.*”  
  
_“*What?*”  
  
_ “*Hear me out, please. You may be Tal-Vashoth now, but you were raised Qunari, and I get that monogamy is still new for you. This whole trip has been a hot mess from the start, you’re not getting the rest you need, and you also have a team that depends on you. So I’m saying, not as your wife, but as your Healer, out of respect for your traditions, if...if you need to find relief elsewhere until we can be together again...*”  
  
Bull stared incredulously. “*You know, for the first time I honestly can’t tell if you’re shitting me or not. Is this some kind of test?*”  
  
“*Come on, you know me better than that. If you were anyone else I wouldn’t even suggest it. I _love_ you, Bull! Your well-being matters to me, and my poor choices have unintentionally hurt you. I’m just...I’m trying to...*” She growled in frustration. “*This all sounded better in my head.*”  
  
He slipped his arm around her waist and rubbed the base of his horn against hers. “*I appreciate the courtesy, Kadan, but the answer’s still no. We both knew this trip was going to be a challenge, and I accepted it. MY choice. Now stop taking blame for crap you can’t control, and stop letting those assholes convince you that you should. Got it?*”  
  
Her smile could have lit up Val Royeaux. “*Yes, Captain. _*”  
  
_ “*Good,*” he purred into her ear. “*And the next time I get you alone, I’m going to make sure you never doubt it was worth the wait.*”  
  
Cullen’s polite _ahem_ was as unwelcome as a slap to the face, and Meraad grit her teeth when she replied in Trade tongue, “ _YES,_ Commander?”  
  
“My sincere apologies, Inquisitor, Captain. We’ve reached the scout's warning marker. The landslide should be about fifty yards ahead.”  
  
Meraad sighed. “Understood.” She stepped away from Bull to straighten her coat and signal a halt.  “Yeah, I see it. Doesn’t look like much from here.”  
  
“In truth, Your Grace, although this stretch of the pass hasn’t been reported as being prone to slides before, the severe weather may have changed all that. I advise caution.”  
  
Bull studied the canyon walls, noting a couple of suspicious switchback trails leading to the ridge line twenty feet above them. “Cullen’s got a point, Boss. Now that the light’s better, maybe send Rocky and the other sappers to survey before you start shifting anything.”  
  
“I hate to delay, but we’ve got civilians in tow, so I agree. Send them out.” She closed her eyes to scan the local weather as Bull signaled his team.   
  
“ _Vashedan,_ exactly what I was afraid of. Cassandra, Cullen, once we mages clear the slide, we’ll need to move fast to get everyone below tree line before the next wave of the storm hits, or it’s going to get ugly. I want you to fill those carriages, double up riders, whatever you have to -- _nobody_ walks. If the nobles don’t like it, they can yell at me later. Leliana, send word to Orzammar for a crew to reinforce this area after us. If they want their precious trade restored, they can bloody well help maintain and patrol the road too.”  
  
_“WHERE IS HE?!”_    
  
Curious courtiers peered from their carriage windows as a tall, red-haired human woman stumbled from their noble ranks, dressed in an Orlesian court gown ill-suited for the weather. Her emerald eyes blazed with fury as dark, kohl liner tears streaked her ruddy cheeks. A nearby chevalier politely stepped forward to offer his cloak, but she shoved him away and tried to push through the wall of Inquisition infantry.  
  
“Now, now, my _dear_ Oriane,” Vivienne approached the distraught noblewoman, her face a mask of carefully-crafted sympathy. “It’s positively dreadful out here, darling. While I've no doubt you’ve just cause to feel upset, perhaps your grievance may wait until we make dry camp?”  
  
The Comtesse’s words slurred as she shrieked at the soldiers barring her path, “ _NO!_ I ‘ave waited long enough! I command you step aside at once, you filthy brutes! I mus’ sspeak to the Oxman!”  
  
Meraad rolled her eyes and muttered to her counselors, “Okay, we do NOT have time for this. My orders stand, people, get moving. Bull, go forward with Rocky and the sappers, now.”  
  
He winced at the dismissal. “*Meraad, I…*”  
  
“*We’re good, Kadan. The drunken slattern is one of the nobles who petitioned me to ‘free’ you, claiming priority since you’d worked for her before. You owe her _nothing_ , and I don’t need details, but this tantrum will be far easier to contain if you’re out of sight.*”  
  
The Captain saluted and departed, sorry to leave the Inquisitor handling what should have been a private matter, especially at a time like this.  
  
_And by the way Viv’s smirking it’s a safe bet she instigated it._  
  
Rocky met him halfway to the roadblock, his cloak of stealth dissipating in the mist. “We got trouble, Chief."  
  
"Report."  
  
"Found tool marks on the stone. That ain’t a natural slide.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured it’s been too quiet lately. Alright, let’s go warn -- ”  
  
A woman’s scream tore through the canyon, escalating from terror into agony before being swiftly silenced.   
  
“Get the boys and meet me back at the front line, now.”  
  
Bull drew his greataxe and raced back to the vanguard, just as Cullen’s war horn sounded the last warning he ever wanted to hear while they were escorting civilians:  
  
_Red Templars._  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies to my readers for the delay in this update. I have not abandoned the story in the least -- this is my OTP and my obsession. As the saying goes, "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans" and that certainly happened here. Thank you all so much for your patience and support.


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